Papercut: The Face Within
by cabalistic
Summary: Twelve years have passed since the saiyans' siege on Chickyuu. A few, including Bulma and Goku, had managed to survive. Then, the saiyans return again for the son that was born during that siege to Bulma... and the Prince himself.
1. Chapter 1

Papercut: The Face Within

By: Cabalistic

Part One: Nightmares

* * *

Chapter I

* * *

Bulma looked at the city that lay wrecked and completely destroyed at her feet. Some buildings in the city were not completely knocked down, the ones on the outer core but they were much too wrecked to be restored at any rate. Otherwise, the city itself was rubble, right down to crumbs at her feet. It was as though the city were a slice of bread that someone reached over and crumbled into dust.

The saiyan's siege over Chickyuu lasted four years. The aliens had come and swept the entire prospering planet away, leaving behind only a few scrabbling survivors. She sighed and clasped a finger over her necklace: a black spiraling hook hanging on a thread. Unfortunately, she too was one of the Earth's final survivors. The time period of a year already passed since they left on their flying pods back to their homeplanet, Vegetasei. But the people of Earth were still very, very afraid.

Memories flickered through her mind as she looked at the city. Troublesome memories that she had thought to have erased long ago, pressing each haunting moment deep into her mind so that she could forget.

Bulma bent down and picked up a worn rag doll the wind had carried at her feet. Whose childhood toy was this? Perhaps some innocent young girl that died in the arms of her protective mother as the saiyans sent a final flash of power to carry their lives away. Maybe the child was still alive, living in cold hard fear of their cruel reality today. She numbly felt over the button eyes and the rag clothes. Then she let go, watching the limp doll tumble helplessly in the wind.

Goku, one of her childhood friends, came up to her, hiking up the mound that she stood on, surveying the remains of the city. Although he was related by blood to one of the saiyans, he was sent to earth as a child and forgotten everything. So he thought himself an earthling for many years until they had arrived four years ago. Every time Bulma attempted to close her eyes and remember the innocent 16-year old she was four years ago, her mind drew to a blank. There was no memory of that time, only suffering, destruction and pain.

Goku carried a boy in his arms, a young boy, barely older than a few months. Lavender hair, blue eyes, just like she was when she was younger. Now her hair had brightened to blue and her sapphire eyes were still a mixture of green and blue, the colors of the sea. The young boy's eyes were closed, but when they were open they only carried the death gaze of his father.

"Trunks got lost," Goku informed Bulma, the mother of her child. She looked coldly at the child that lay in the crook of his remaining arm. The memory of how he was born into the world brought only pain to her. Goku looked at the wreckage of the city, regret in his eyes as he whispered, "If only I could kill them." Bulma leaned over and touched his arm, a mere stump poking from his orange sleeve he flinched slightly from the pain that was still embedded there. "You tried, Goku." She spoke, trembling.

They all were wounded from the saiyan's attack. Not only had Goku lost his arm, but also his first-born, Gohan, was killed brutally, his head ending up on their doorstep. His wife, Chi Chi, went blank as a page and hadn't spoken a word since she had discovered the head severed from her beloved son's body. They later had another son born named Goten, a little younger than Trunks. Nobody paid any attention to Goten though in the household, as though he was only there to fill Gohan's place. _At the very least,_ she thought, _you had a son that you were planning to have_. She took hold of her baby and held him tight.

"Let's go back," Goku pleaded softly. "I hate looking at the cities." Bulma silently agreed, all it did was remind her how rich and blind she was four years ago. How she thought that her life was perfect and nobody could do anything about it. All it took was three aliens and she found herself poor, utterly stripped of the person she was and struggling to survive.

Bulma's father, the smartest man in the world was captured, just to be killed for his defiance. At the news of the saiyan's arrival, Bulma's mother took the remaining money and split, without her daughter. Her own boyfriend, Yamcha, had gone with the others in an attempt to kill the saiyans. Only Goku returned.

Bulma was the remaining piece of her family alive in flesh but in her head she was as dead as her father was.

Goku noticed his best friend wasn't moving so he gently pressed her arm downward and she walked like a lost soul, following him blankly, leaving the ruins of the city behind.

In her arms, she carried a freak; a mix of two species, saiyan and human. The child born of intellect and of royalty rested in her arms, asleep, only to be known in the future as the Son of the Prince.

* * *

Vegeta stood on the balcony of the palace, breathing in the heavy air. The air of his homeplanet he was more accustomed to, the heavy, denser heat of his planet made him more comfortable than the light, airy Chickyuu. He frowned, balancing the wineglass in his hand. With expertise, he threw it in the air and caught it. He smirked, none of it spilled on the floor. The red wine was almost impossible to wash of the floor and if he dropped it the glass would have been sorely missed as well since it was a family heirloom.

He was Prince Vegeta XIII, infamously known for killing far too many to count and wiping off species from the threshold of existence with a flick of his wrist. His hair arched in a flame. Even for a saiyan, he was considered powerful for his age of 22 years and exceeded many of his elders. His main goal of life had been power, to obtain the type of power that shook fear into many people's hearts. Women were nothing to him, despite the fact that they swooned at the sight of him and many lusted for him. Riches meant little to him. It was only power, raw pure power, that he coveted.

That is—until he met Bulma.

He remembered no pleasures back on Chickyuu. Other than watching the fear spread like a disease on a person's face and feeling the power of bloodlust take over him. He also remembered that the Chickyuu girls were nothing like saiyans so that when he captured them, they died of fright or attempted to kill themselves. Hopeless bitches. There was only one Chickyuian girl that captured his full attention while he was there.

Her name was Bulma. She was the daughter of the scientist they captured for information. Of course, the old man was killed like the rest when he defied the power of the saiyans but the girl was beautiful beyond compare—even a saiyan woman at her prime. She was hotheaded and stubborn like him and every second she fought for her freedom, despite the consequences. He enjoyed that and now was regretting the fact that she got away.

Nappa and Raditz weren't as picky as he was when it came to girls and brought a whole shipload of captives to prove it. They were probably out somewhere, drunk again, down at one of the places where there were women to entertain the savage desires of saiyan men.

When they had returned to Vegetasei, they were greeted and hailed as heroes. That was only what was expected of course. They had returned after conquering much of the South Quadrant in the name of the saiyans. Chickyuu just so happened to be on the way home. They wouldn't have even stopped if Nappa didn't insist on getting out of the pods to take a piss.

Now, when everything settled down, he recalled that woman he captured. Vegetasei had yet again become boring.

Perhaps one day, he could return to that tiny little planet where the heat made him itch unbearably. Just to get another glimpse of the woman. He frowned, swirling the glass around in the cup. If he waited too long, the woman might die from no way of survival or grief itself.

Vegeta smiled slowly with anticipation. No, this woman was a fighter; there was no way that Bulma would give way to death. He was sure of it.

* * *

Bulma sat at the Sons' table. The silence seemed to eat away the food more than the humans devouring it. She poked at the food, no longer hungry unlike her son. Trunks ate all of his baby food already and was sitting there quietly, fixing his mother with the cold, unsettling gaze that reminded her only of his father. She looked away. Her first-born should have been cute-faced with chubby cheeks and an innocent smile; instead of this child had the face of an adult, hard faced with a scowl. He had a tail, but she had it removed at his birth, wanting no memory of his father.

She wondered what Trunks might have looked like if Yamcha was the father. Immediately she brushed the thought away before the memories came back.

Goten looked more of a replica of his father than of his dead brother. He sat there, wailing loudly as Goku tried to comfort him. Chi Chi sat, staring blank-faced at the plate in front of her. Her eyes were on the empty seat in front of her, where Gohan sat when he was alive for dinner. Goten was too young to take his brother's place because of the baby seat, but the chair made the entire universe empty to Chi Chi.

Bulma absent-mindedly ran her fingers through Trunks' hair. Lavender, more on the purple side than blue, his hair was thick and glossy like a girl's. She scowled. Must have been his father's trait. Goku saw her twisted expression and must have guessed what she thought about because he put a comforting hand on her elbow and smiled warmly at her.

She blankly looked at him and tried to smile but his face was like a mirror of concern, so her smile must have been ghastly. "We'll get through it," He said quietly. "I promise you, Bulma, we'll make it."

Bulma's eyes flickered. Would they? They were two of the sole survivors on earth, the only ones left to fight for it. The saiyans were gone now, but they still remained.

Bulma nodded her head and said softly, "I know." Looking at her childhood friend beside her, she recalled the youth he had once been, that bright-eyed, smiling innocent boy. She smiled at the memory. Was it possible? Goku might have become a monster just like the ones that had invaded, and yet, he had saved her life countless times and now she was sitting here at the same table as him.

She unbuckled Trunks from his baby chair and lifted him into her arms, cradling the baby that silently glared at her. "Despite who his father is or how he came to be, he's my son, Goku. I'll raise him to be good. To protect earth." She smled at Goku. "Like you." Despite his wary eyes, Goku grinned broadly. She tilted her head down to the scowling baby and smiled, genuinely, making her beautiful face glow radiantly. Trunks looked up at his mother and garbled excitedly, as though the child understood that his mother had just accepted him.

"I'll raise him to be good," she vowed, cooing down at her child.

* * *

8 years later

* * *

Trunks yelled when the water hit his body. The water was beyond freezing, as it always were up in the north but to the boy it seemed like the water froze over every night only to be colder in the morning. His body had broken the translucent silence that covered over the water like veil.

Close behind, Goten jumped in after him, screaming with pain at the icy water. He bounded out of the water, yelping, throwing the towel over him again. Teeth chattering, he protested against Trunks' taunting.

Bulma watched them from the porch, wearing a thick parka against the winds with a worn smile on her face. Time had slipped by her easily but her face showed no sign of it, only seemingly to make her more beautiful. Now at the age of 28, she had intended to enjoy the way of life in survivals hard grip. Earth had undergone a drastic climate change in the past few years, its surface freezing over.

Even Goku had changed. He trained, twice as hard every day, in case of the treacherous saiyans returning. Despite these changes, he remained the same in mostly every other way, cheerfully optimistic and protective of his family. He also accepted Bulma as a sister and his broken family swelled to include her and her son. But he also said she had changed as well. He claimed she was undergoing 'ers', "smart_er_, wis_er_, old_er_, pretti_er_, and bett_er_". She could see his hunched body in the distance, dragging a large tree over his shoulder for more firewood for that night's fireplace to keep their house warm. She grinned, despite her aching cheeks.

They had taken precautions for the future and what it might bring. For example, Goku taught her more about the world of 'chi' and even taught her how to fly—a little. It came easy for Bulma, perhaps a little too easy—and that scared her. Goku had seen this too and he was alarmed. Her lessons had ceased. Bulma didn't hold it against Goku, he knew what he was doing.

While time had made no evidence on Bulma, time had affected Chi Chi dramatically. Her face became lined with age at her age of 33 and her hair had already started to lighten into white. She was still the living corpse she was eight years ago, blankly looking at everything through her frosted-glass window. Often Bulma would find her staring out the window, murmuring something inaudible to herself. In time, Bulma and Goku had to force food down her throat in order for her to live. Her eyes became dull and her lips were constantly sealed tight against any talking. If she was displeased with whatever Bulma did, she kept it to herself now.

They lived off of whatever vegetation they could scratch off the ground and whatever animal Goku could track down. Trunks and Goten had already experienced their first hunting trips. She closed her eyes and pictured the hides of a rabbit and a young doe hanging above their fireplace.

Of course, they had to live through things that the first people of earth must have experienced. Their food wouldn't grow, the animals sometimes traveled too far that they had to move after it, and they had to make their own clothing. Even water became a problem. Trunks and Goten went out to the lake to chip out a large chunk of ice for Bulma to put next to a fire and melt for water.

"We're still alive," she whispered carefully, gently running her fingers down the wood of the capsule house. "We survived. We are going to make it." She smiled, wistfully, wishing she still had the heart of her stolen childhood to join her son in his game of water-tag.

* * *

The eight years that had passed in Vegetasei were almost equivalent to eight Chickyuu years. The prince was now wrapped up in wealthy living but he never forgot the Chickyuu woman. Most of the time, he found himself asking him if she was still alive and surviving on Chickyuu.

Of course, in the course of eight years, his father had betrothed his son to a beautiful saiyan woman, Kiryae. Dark and cunning, she came from a long lineage of esteemed first rated saiyans. She was considered the strongest candidate for Queen, the most saiyan of all saiyan women. Yet underneath it all, she was vain, and superficial. She considered fighting beneath her, but in reality, she was horrifyingly weak. He found himself more disgusted by her than fascinated.

Stange. Every time he looked at the saiyan women, he found himself putting them in contrast to _her_.

He shook his head with a scowl. These days, he seemed to think of little else. He had several missions to occupy his mind with. In the span of eight years, he had already undertaken a number of different sieges on distant planets, all of which were victorious. But none of them were satisfactory. Whenever he returned to his home planet, he couldn't wait to leave again. At least on another planet, he could drown himself in his bloodlust and take out his frustration on the poor inhabitants there.

In short, the prince of all saiyans was bored out of his skull.

Vegeta sighed. It was probably already too late. The woman was probably dead. She might have withstood a few months but time would overwhelm her and she would have died. Mourning for his silent loss, he closed his eyes, attempting to retrieve his mental image of her.

A servant entered the room. She bowed, low onto the floor, her nose almost touching the tiles. Pretty thing, but nowhere near his taste. "My lord, the scouters are sending for you. They found something with utmost importance." Vegeta raised an eyebrow and said, "Very well. You are excused." She bowed again, with the same nose-touching-floor gesture and left as quickly as she came.

Vegeta rose and exited the room, refilling his glass wine cup on the way out. His thoughts returned to_ her_. She had been pretty for her young age and completely transformed into an elegant young woman over the course of four years. But it wasn't just her beauty, he reminded himself. No, it was when that defiance lit her eyes and scowl bared with her teeth when he was most enthralled. It was her refusal to surrender, her ferocity, her spirit to fight.

He entered the room, thinking so hard that he started when a scouter saiyan came up to him. "Sir, something has been discovered on Chickyuu." Vegeta, interested, said, "What is it?" The scouter replied, "A lifeform, sir." Vegeta laughed. "So there are a few survivors, like those pathetic earthlings will never rise to pose a threat."

The elderly scouter shook his head. Obviously he had experience on his side. Vegeta also discovered that he found this man to be extremely ugly, causing him to develop a lower regard for the man. "It as a lifeform sir," he said slowly, as if he were tasting his words, "that carries your blood." Vegeta, who was taking a drink from his cup, crushed it to pieces and spewed it all over the wall in shock. The scouter looked at the wall now with utter distaste.

"My blood?!" He hissed. His mind flashed back to the woman. Would she have... no; it was impossible. No weak Chickyuian woman could give birth to a saiyan, especially the son of the prince. "Whose other blood does it carry?" He growled. The scouter noticed the tone of the prince's voice and he lowered his voice to say, "A Chickyuu woman. The lifeform is very young, so young that it is possible that it had entered existence only a few years ago." He bowed his head respectfully.

Vegeta cursed, leaving the room. He paced down the hallway, agitated and tense. It was very crucial of what he did next. A saiyan royalty, born of his flesh and blood, the next prince of Vegetasei, was in the hands of a Chickyuu survivor. The woman could raise him to become a saiyan of hate and revenge that would rise in power or it could be Kakarot all over again, innocent and stupid. He scowled; just thinking of how his first-born son could be like that 3rd rated saiyan.

He frowned. The only way to redeem his bloodline was to go to Chickyuu again and kidnap it from the mother. Otherwise it would be brought up as a country bumpkin. Which meant that he would have to leave immediately. He smirked at his next thought.

Which meant he had another chance of seeing _her_ again.

* * *

Trunks stood beside his mother as she mended his jacket for the fifth time that week. He still had that adult look to his face that made him seem of fifteen years instead of eight. Occasionally, his eyes still crumpled to give off that scowl that reminded her of his father, and only then would she turn away from her first-born. But he had an endearing heart that cherished and loved easily with a tendency towards heroics; not unlike his father-figure Goku.

"Mom," he said aloud, keeping his eyes on the sewing needle that went up and down. His voice was well aged as well, giving him the voice of an older child. The voice itself, she knew inwardly as a secret fear, would someday transform into alikeness of his father and would destroy her completely. "Mom," he said again. "What was Dad like?"

These were the questions she hated – the ones where he would ask about his father and she would be forced to lie to her first-born again. She took a deep breath and an image jetted into the atmosphere.

Hands gripped her as her mouth opened in a coarse scream. Clothing ripped and pain swallowed her whole. Vaguely in a world away from her own, she heard Trunks repeat the question but the past shoved her back into her memories like shoving her facedown in black water. His lips met hers in a fierce struggle, his low laughter filling the air. She wrestled out of his grasp but he only grew stronger. Every time his skin brushed against hers, she felt his skin burn hers, as though he were a living flame. The night's air was heavy in the heat and pitch black. She felt his hands clawing at her, roughly grabbing her until she was sore with bruises. She couldn't see him through the night because there was no moon. The darkness seemed to go on forever, stretching on through her memories. His voice filled her head. "You're _mine_." His low chuckles in the darkness echoed in her head and she broke free of the memory when Trunks spoke. "Mom!" He yelled loudly, gripping her forearm. His blue eyes met hers in a concerned gaze.

"It scares me when you do that, Mom." He retorted. "You space out and your face starts twisting up real bad."

Bulma made her face fall into a warm smile when all she wanted to do was scream and curl into a ball. These flashbacks had continuously haunted her successfully for the past few years. She couldn't believe that her son, this talented, sweet boy, was the outcome of the horrible memory. She touched her forehead, her ears still ringing with the noise. "I'm sorry, Trunks. Your mom's very tired right now."

Trunks nodded and said, shrugging, "I forgot what I was going to say anyway." He grinned and told hold of his jacket that Bulma fixed for him. "Thanks Mom!" She offered him a sad smile as he darted away, eager to go back to his play. She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Sometimes in the darkness, she still felt _him_ pushing against her and she would dream about her imprisonment again. She would wake up, sweating and on the verge of screaming with her blankets snaked around her. At night, his voice called for her in the darkness and she felt like she was drowning in the deepness of it.

Bulma closed her eyes, imagining him again, her darkest fear. His bottomless cold eyes. His cruel mouth. Even his name made her mouth go dry.

Vegeta.

What scared her the most was that there was no sympathy or mercy in him. She had spent four long, horrible years with him, long enough to know. He was evil. There was no good in him.

Suddenly Goku was in front of her, touching her wrist. His eyes were so serious, so concerned, she half-believed that someone had died. "You're thinking of him again, aren't you?"

Her eyes melted with sadness as she said quietly, "I'm afraid, Goku." She looked skyward, fearing to see one of those accursed space pods drifting across the sky. Luckily, as for the past eight years, there was no sign of the saiyan's return, but still, she would find herself frantically searching the skies. "I'm very afraid." She corrected herself.

Goku didn't seem to notice when he replied, slowly, "Fear changes a person. You went through an experience that has marked you forever." He looked towards the sky as well, searching for their space ships. "I cannot promise you that they won't come back." He looked back at Bulma, grinning. "But I'll do whatever I can to make sure you don't get hurt."

She nodded and said quietly, "Thanks Goku."

He grinned broadly and left, whistling a merry tune.

But what could promises do? What can a few petty words mean in the world she knew today? Words had no power, but fate did. Something could happen that could twist their entire fates completely and words would mean absolutely nothing.

* * *

Vegeta sat in the space pod, his eyes closed in deep thought. He was glad that he had left so soon for every second that passed would soon twist into a month that would turn into a year. Time was essential and unforgiving.

Kiryae had responded more sharply than he had expected. Her eyebrows had met in an angry frown as she hissed, "Kill the child. Murder the mother and have her left drowning in her own blood. Make sure that the beasts will devour her until there is nothing but rotting bone."

He scowled at her response. The stupid girl. As though he'd take an order from her. Killing his first-born was not only a waste but barbaric. Either way, Kiryae was no wife of his and he intended to keep it that way.

His father was a different tale. He looked indifferent when he was told and said in monotone, "Retrieve the babe and take it to the throne where it belongs. The mother can be a concubine." Once again, Vegeta had no intention of making Bulma a mere concubine. Something so beautiful couldn't have so little status.

He opened his eyes, only to get dizzied by the vast space swarming both left and right. Beside his pod were two others that concealed his partners in crime, Raditz and Nappa.

Radditz burst out laughing when he was told. "The prince already a daddy!" He roared with laughter and pounded Vegeta on the back. "You'll be a good dad to the brat." He sneered. "Tyke'll obviously be as puny as you." Though his ego was obviously hurt by this remark, he gave no response.

His other partner was the complete opposite. "I was hoping we'd get something more interesting for our next mission." Nappa had grumbled. "Nothing like capturing a brat and some whore from Chickyuu. I didn't think we'd see that mud ball again. Fucking plants itch like hell." Once again, Vegeta ignored his partner.

None really understood the overwhelming excitement that he got when he was able to return to Chickyuu; it was like the breakthrough from the wealthy life he was waiting for. It had occurred at the perfect opportunity as well. He smirked. Just when he thought he was getting bored.

He breathed in the stale air from within the space pod. He tried to imagine what his arrival would be like.

Kakarot would be ripped limb from limb and then they would pull out his entrails and leave them scattered in the sand. The saiyan had no right to inherit his title—especially when he had no tail to justify his claim. His idiot of a wife would have her tongue removed and perhaps put to 'better uses' on Vegetasei. Their brat of a first-born was taken care of, but since their other son was now living, he thought it would be best for the son to be killed before the father, before the father's eyes. The son would die slowly and painfully and from what he heard a parent feels ten times the wounds of a child.

As for the woman… He smiled and licked his lips numbly. He would deal with her personally.

* * *

Bulma walked into the house, a pathetic capsule-home that looked in danger of falling in on itself, and jolted when she saw Chi Chi standing there. Her eyes were blank as usual but this time it seemed like the older woman was looking into Bulma, into her thoughts. Her lips slowly parted as though she was going to say something and suddenly she emitted a horrible scream from her mouth, the most noise she made in years.

Bulma covered her ears and backed away from the woman that continued staring at her with soulless eyes and screaming, her mouth opening into a black hole with shrieks of horror coming from her lips.

Her voice was too high pitched for Bulma to barely interpret what the woman was saying, but she made out the words that made her freeze in fear. "_Murderer! Daughter of Chaos! Whore of Hell! Fate-breaker! Mother of Misery! Monster!_" The words made Bulma back into a corner and stare at the older lady. She felt a tear trickle from her cheeks as the words stung close to home.

Chi Chi suddenly reached over and grabbed a glass vase, throwing it in Bulma's direction. Bulma lifted her hands to shield her face and she felt that unbearable pain again as her flesh on her forearms tore apart, the glass shattering in pieces around her. She gasped as she looked at her hands to see them with embedded shards of glass, oozing with blood.

It wasn't until Goku ran into the house and took Chi Chi in his arms did she stop. Her screams had decreased into low moans of inaudible language as she twisted around in his arms. But her jetting glare of accusation at Bulma didn't cease even when Goku led her out of the room. Bulma felt her insides tremble, still feeling the glares burn into her face.

Before, Chi Chi would have nothing to do with the Capsule Corps heiress, probably out of jealousy or distaste. But now it was more than that. Chi Chi didn't want her around, it was more like she wished her dead.

Bulma clutched her bloody forearms and slid onto the floor, covering her face, surrounded in the remains of glass. Pulling herself inside herself. For the first time in years, she wept in the sadness of her life and at her hopeless fate. Goku returned into the room, looking uncertainly at Bulma and the glass remnants around her. He crouched before his friend and took her by her shoulders, hugging her. "It's going to be okay, Bulma." He babbled like a talkative child. "It's going to be okay."

* * *

Trunks looked up towards his mother in the middle of his spar with Goten. Straight and tall, he saw her in his eyes. Pretty and young, not like Goten's mom who was old and had lines of worry on her face, but pretty and young. He never saw his mother cry before, unlike Goku who wept when he saw a bird's nest filled with dead hatchlings or a bear cub starved to death in the cold. Goku could cry over anything that died. Chi Chi cried whenever she was alone, looking out the window with tears streaming down her soulless eyes.

His mother's face was fixed in a horrible grimace for some reason. Maybe something happened inside that had to do with the terrified screams that came from within. Her hands were wrapped up in that sticky tape substance that they used on Trunks when his hand slipped and he split his hand with a knife. Bulma had screamed at Chi Chi for leaving the knife out in the open, hugging Trunks in her arms as though he was still a baby. Chi Chi had looked blankly at her as usual and left the room, tears streaming down her cheeks with hot jealousy on her face when she turned away from Trunks.

Now, Bulma looked out towards the lake and Trunks was alarmed to see that his mother's eyes was swollen red, like she had been crying. But his mother was the one person in his life that he never saw crying. She was the strongest person he knew, even when a porcupine had attacked her, she didn't cry then or when Goku carefully pulled out the quills. When Trunks questioned her, she laughed and told him that it tickled. Then he pressed her further and asked her if she was afraid of pain. Then her face hardened into a taut scowl and she said quietly, "I'm not afraid of pain. I'm not afraid of death. I've seen death."

His furrowed his eyebrows down and looked at his reflection. He never understood his mother. She was very confusing. Every time he scowled or narrowed his eyes, she would go pale and turn away from him. She never said anything about a father; a comforting male older male figure in the family like Goku was to Goten. Every time he approached the subject, his mother would suddenly go quiet and her eyes would go blank like Chi Chi, as though she was looking through him and to his father.

He slowly walked up towards the porch, ignoring Goten's indignant cries towards him. He looked up towards his mother on the porch and said, "Mom?" She didn't hear him as a single tear fell from her cheek and landed on his eyelid. She buried her face in her Capsule Corps jacket. "Mom?" He called again.

Bulma looked down to her son. Smiled. "Yes Trunks?" She asked, her eyes suddenly looking normal again. Trunks' eyebrows met in a frown. "Are you okay?" He spoke the words, now unsure if she was crying or not. Bulma nodded, not speaking, but keeping a sad smile on her face, as her son was reassured, diving back into the fight.

"So innocent," she whispered quietly, stroking the wood on the railing. "So young." Her lips quivered as she looked up at the cloudy sky. "So blind." Her eyes switched back to the glazed over expression, red and swollen. "Just like I was." She was silent, watching her son at play. "Just like I am." She corrected herself.

Bulma turned away from her son, walking back into the house, to sit on the floor of the locked bathroom and cry for hours.

* * *

A/N: And after year's break, I'm finally back! Sorry about that incredibly long hiatus. :D I started college recently and I've had a pretty rough start. I transferred several schools that couldn't really fit and have been wrestling with what to do career-wise. I wasn't able to write at all during that time. But I've finally settled down to the right college with the right major and things are really coming together. And I can finally write again!

So after giving it a lot of thought, I've decided to give this fanfic another go. And fix up a few things. There's a lot of things that need tweaking so please bear with me as I'm going through and rewriting it. :D I know it's a bit of pain, especially since I've made you all wait so incredibly long, but honestly, it's been six/seven years since I first wrote this, so my writing style has changed pretty significantly. (Actually, it's a bit embarrassing going back and rereading what I wrote) I can't really continue the story as it is right now since there were a lot of things I botched over when I had been writing it the first time. (And I'm sorry that you had to deal with that!)

Just as a warning, some chapters are going to have more changes than others.

Thank you all for your patience and support through the years! Reading through your reviews has inspired and motivated me to continue, even though there were more than a few instances where I've considered dropping this entirely.

Please feel free to review and let me know what you think. I appreciate all of your feedback! I hope you guys enjoy this! :D


	2. Chapter 2

Papercut: The Face Within

By: Cabalistic

Disclaimer: I don't own dbz  
(Crap I forgot this the first time. But you guys should know it by now.)

Part One: Nightmares

* * *

II

* * *

_Yes!_ Vegeta mentally yelled as their space pods landed on the mud ball of the earth. It crashed into the ground, shuddering the pod from the impact. He loved the thrill of knowing how many people would looking in the direction of the crater, eyes full of horror, hearts full of fear. Especially on a planet like Chickyuu, which had already known what a true saiyan onslaught was.

Oh yes. All their worst nightmares were about to come to life.

He burst out of the pod. The crater was huge as usual, exposing the mud from the green earth. It was morning, and the sun was a semi-circle against the sea. A new day. Wet dewdrops clung to the grass he stepped on when he came out of the crater. Even the birds were singing. He had to admit; the earth was a lively place to be, filled with life and harmony, the complete opposite of Vegetasei, the planet of siege and destruction. He breathed in the light air deeply. Yes, he had been away far too long. The peace radiating in the air was absolutely disgusting.

Nappa was standing there, by Radditz's closed pod. He frowned and jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the pod. "Bastard fell asleep."

Vegeta rolled his eyes. He didn't have time for this. "Wake him then split up and find the child. Leave the woman to me." Nappa grunted; he never seemed to agree with accepting orders from someone shorter than he was. Of course, he was loyal and obeyed commands without hesitation, but he never liked servicing under a prince younger than him. The prince paused and added for good measure, "And we are not taking any other captives." This voiced complaints from his subordinate.

Vegeta gave him a quick nod and took off into the sky. He hovered in the sky, breathing in the airy taste of grass that he had sorely missed. He messed around with his red scouter for a few minutes until he found the strongest life form.

"A life form of 800," He sneered. Well, it wasn't much of an improvement. Obviously the life form was Kakarot, and when there was Kakarot, the woman was sure to be close by.

* * *

"Lie still," said the voice, "it will be quick and painless… if you will it." Bulma whimpered, pushing herself further into the dark corner. The chains on her wrists rattled ominously. She closed her eyes tight and breathed in cold air. She made out an iron door squealing loudly as it opened and closed, scraping against the cold earth. Soft brushing footsteps were made against the stony ground. She felt wetness wash over her eyes and somehow, she could tell even through the darkness that it was blood.

Bulma looked up in the darkness, breathlessly, knowing that a face hovered there in the darkness, a face of evil. Sinisterly, his hand gently grabbed her chin, forcing her to look upward directly at him. She could hear the steady sound of his breath. Suddenly he was on her, lifting her effortlessly by the throat. She twisted around, gasping for air. "Did you miss me?" His voice came as a ripple of cold air against her face. She clamped her nails around his wrist and screamed inaudibly for air. _  
_

He pushed her against the wall, his lips meeting hers forcefully. She planted her hands widely against the wall and pushed her knees up into his chest, an attempt to push him backward. He laughed in amusement as his hand grasped her hair. She winced and pulled away, only making her scalp burn with the pain. He lifted her hair upward and met her lips again, and she felt his hand snake into her shirt.

Bulma lifted her hands and scratched him across the face. His hand clamped over her mouth to silence her - and she bit down hard. The taste of his blood in her throat made her choke which he easily pulled away. The voice in the darkness laughed again. "Biting now?" His breath was coming heavily against her neck. "My turn." Both hands pinning her into the wall on either side of her head, he sank his teeth into her throat. Her lips opened in a coarse scream.

Bulma woke with a start, with her hands on her neck, on the verge of screaming. She looked down at her hands, to see no blood. But her neck was still stinging with the pain. She looked out the window, breathing easily. The morning streaked the sky in hues of crimson red.

Reality meant nothing to Bulma. She had surrounded herself with hope and strength, so her son could grow strong. But one could not escape pain entirely; the real pain she suffered was at night, when hallucinations came to her and spread their dark wings over her sleeping form. To comfort herself, she tried to retrieve a mental image of Yamcha, the cocky grin, the dimples on his crossed-scar and his nonchalant laughter. Instead, she got the memory of Vegeta, cold and ruthless scowl and echoing chuckle that made the hair on her neck rise in fear.

Shakily, she rose from the bed, looking around fearfully as though he was somewhere within the shadows of the morning light. When there was no saiyan prince there, she straightened. Feeling more confident that it was just a nightmare, she pulled on black jeans and a Capsule Corps blue jacket, with the original logo on it as well. She remembered, so long ago, when she stood as a little girl, drawing a large letter "C" outlined in black and white crayons. She had presented it to her father, smiling ear to ear, while saying, "I wrote Capsule Corp!" Her father, impressed by the picture, had turned it into the company logo. She put her fingers to the button and closed her eyes, attempting to remember. Lastly, she put on the necklace, the spiraling hook necklace. She remembered only four years ago, how Yamcha gently placed it over her head and touched her collarbone, grinning. "This is just temporary—soon I'll get you a ring with a diamond." The chain had broken and the black paint on the hook faded to gray, but it was still the gift. How sincere he had been when he had said that, how truthful he seemed when he spoke of marriage.

It saddened her, how much she had believed him. How much she waited for him to return each day, only to receive the news of nothing. How her hope had kept her up long enough to make her fall harder.

_How much I couldn't believe you were gone…_

She walked into the kitchen, preparing a little tea to calm her nerves. The familiar smell of the leaves brought unsuspecting comfort to her mind. Goku came in, hard-faced. He stood there, uneasy for awhile, looking down at the floor. Bulma waited for him to speak, already dreading the worst.

Finally in a hesitant voice, Goku said, "Goten was outside this morning, ice fishing with Trunks. He saw… he saw a space pod fly across the sky."

Bulma jerked and dropped the tea and the liquid poured all over her legs. She cried out, gripped her legs, but also wishing to grip her heart that sprang into her throat.

Goku disappeared and returned with a cool cloth, gently pressing it into her hands. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she whispered, "Where are they?" Goku dipped his head and murmured, "I saw it crash far down towards the south but I feel an abnormally strong aura headed in this direction. It's sure to be Vegeta." Bulma paled visibly at his name. Goku's face softened. "I want you to leave, Bulma, take Trunks with you. You're who he is after. I'll hold him off, for a little bit at least."

Bulma nodded and walked to the closet, taking one of the survival packs. "I knew this day would come," she said in a hollow voice. He didn't respond, seeming to be locked in a world of his own. She wondered what he was thinking about, the way his eyes furrowed down in complete concentration. Probably which way his punch would be thrown and how he would block, where he would aim. How much energy he would use for each shot, and probably trying to sharpen all of his senses to prepare himself for the moment.

He looked at her and said sharply, "Go! He'll be here any minute!"

She nodded and whispered, "Don't die, Goku."

Goku didn't respond and she felt half of her heart being ripped from her chest. She walked outside, slowly in a dream state, to see Trunks already standing there, with a survival pack slung over his shoulder. His eyes were also furrowed down in a glare, making him look so much like _him_. She turned away, the other half of her heart beginning to dissolve. "These are the saiyans that attacked a few years ago?" He asked in an urgent voice. "The ones that killed Grandpa?"

Unable to answer, she nodded. _And me as well_, she wished to say. Trunks broke out into a grim smile as he picked up his mother by the legs and began flying, low but fast. She kept one hand on his head to keep balance. She looked up towards the sky, fearfully, trying to sort out the different colors, looking for the very man she feared—her lover. _Vegeta_.

* * *

Vegeta burst into the house, the door swinging uselessly against its hinges as it broke, shattering to the ground. The Chickyuu house was nothing like the ones four years before that towered over the ground and overlooked an entire city. The house appeared to be falling apart on itself like a saggy lump of twigs held together by a clumsy pile of mud, proud yet not sturdy, leaning on its side heavily, held up with an unsteady pole. The windows had no protection against the elements and the door itself was far too easy to break down.

"I've been waiting for you, Vegeta." A voice said loudly. He looked towards the center of the room to see a five-spiked hair man wearing an orange gi. He had his back to Vegeta, but the prince knew who he was, even after all of these years.

Vegeta's face broke into a smirk. "Well, Kakarot. Come to greet your prince properly?"

Goku turned around slowly, his eyes narrowed down angrily. "You aren't welcome here, Vegeta."

Vegeta, while examining a strange Chickyuu object in his hands, coolly said, "You know what I'm here for Kakarot, so hand her over." The object was a strange glass figure of a woman, with her pale head tilted to look up at Vegeta with baleful black eyes.

Goku's fists tightened at his sides as he smiled grimly and said, "You're not getting her, Vegeta." Vegeta smirked and crushed the pretty object in his hand. The frail thing shattered and bit into his hand, spraying all over in a rain of glass over his fist. "Kakarot," he paused, flicking away the shards, "I can come here easily and quietly, just take the woman and the child, or if you force me, I'll have to do something very… unpleasant."

Goku's expression did not change. "Bulma stays, along with the child."

Vegeta smirked and said in feigned sadness, "It's a pity you haven't learned anything from the past, Kakarot." He raised an eyebrow at his lost arm and said, "Even when its evidence is right in your face."

Goku didn't even see him move, or even had time to block himself from the attack. Suddenly his remaining arm was twisted around his back in the wrong direction and Vegeta held it there, with his foot planted in his back. Vegeta chuckled, jerking his arm further. Goku yelled, feeling the bone shatter. Then his arm hung limp as Vegeta released his limb.

Vegeta shook his head and said with fake sympathy, "A saiyan with no arms, what use is that?" He held his open hand in Goku's face as it began glowing with chi. "Die in stupidity, Kakarot." He hissed.

Goku swung his legs around, in an attempt to trip Vegeta. The saiyan prince easily hopped over but Goku jumped up to his feet abruptly and rammed his body into Vegeta. The impact sent the prince through the wall. Vegeta stood slowly, outside with a few wooden planks that used to make up the house.

Goku weakly with his limp hand took a bean from the pouch in his belt and put it to his mouth. Vegeta watched, astonished, as Goku healed once more. He flexed his now healed fingers and smiled warily, "See Vegeta? I'm not letting you go that easily." His eyes narrowed. "Bulma and her son are part of my family, Vegeta. There is nothing you can do to take that away."

Vegeta's smirk widened. "We'll see about that, Kakarot."

He pointed his first two fingers to his lips and closed his eyes. Goku tensed, trying to anticipate his foe's intentions. Suddenly Vegeta's eyes flew open and his elbow jerked down, releasing a concentrated chi ball. Goku had suspected that move and dodged to the side, but Vegeta had leaped up and flew into Goku full force. They both attacked each other with a flurry of attacks, mixtures of punches and kicks. By the human eye, it was impossible to tell who was winning or losing but suddenly Vegeta jerked his arm back and landed a heavy blow on Goku's face, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Blood spilled from his lips as Goku spat a mouthful of the liquid onto the earth. He felt his face swell—not a very pleasant sensation. He wiped off the blood with a grimace on his face, while Vegeta jeered at him, "What's the matter, Kakarot? The easy living made you soft and forget what your own _blood_ looks like?" Goku smirked and said darkly, "I've had no easy living ever since you came, Vegeta. You've made my life a living _hell!" _He shot a ki ball at the prince and Vegeta took it on, full force.

Goku leapt back up and dove straight into the air and into the saiyan prince, hitting him with a heavy thud as he didn't slow the attack, sending two punches into Vegeta. Vegeta scowled and used his legs to ram into Goku, sending Goku into the earth, creating a huge crater on the surface. Without pausing for a second, Vegeta shot two ki beams down at the crater. They landed into Goku, yet the saiyan made no reply.

Vegeta said loudly, "I suppose I'll go fetch _my woman_ now."

This made Goku fly up in rage, eyes glowing with anger. "_She's not yours_!" He screamed, plummeting Vegeta to the ground.

Surprised by his sudden comeback, he kicked Goku off of him and landed a few punches in him. Drawing his hand in a diagonal line, he sent a sharp jet of ki in Goku's direction, splintering the fighter's body into a mass of blood. From the amount of blood loss, Goku collapsed.

Vegeta scowled, sensing Goku still alive yet unconscious. "And I fail to kill him yet again." He looked back towards the house. There were no lifeforms pulsing from the human pile of sticks.

But two small energies were creeping off of his scouter towards the east. That had to be them. Vegeta would tear apart the earth itself in search of her. It was the suspense he hated the most, for he had never been a patient creature.

* * *

Bulma felt it in her chest, a large fist forming right around her collarbone. She felt the impact as Goku collided into the earth and she heard the saiyan's prince laughter echoing in her mind. She knew that Goku would not last very long. And it was time for her to face her greatest fear. "Trunks," She said quietly, gently tapping her son on the shoulder. "Put me down."

Obediently, Trunks put her feet down on the ground first and said, "Yes, Mom?" She looked at her son. He was so innocent, too innocent to be the son of that monster. He had her whole heart. She refused to let him fall into _his_ hands. "Leave me here," she said slowly, "and go on alone." Trunks was shocked by his mother's request and he protested. His mother overrode her son's reaction and said, "Trunks that's an order."

Trunks dipped his head. His mother never spoke that way to him. He did not fully grasp their situation but he slowly nodded and said, "Yes mother."

Bulma forced her lips into a smile. "That's my Trunks." She said softly, running her hand through his hair. She kissed him on the forehead gently. "I'm so proud of you." Slowly, the boy levitated, looking at his mother, feeling her courage and confidence and not even noticing the usual suspicions. It was then she realized that the boy had always, to some extent, understood. He had seen this coming, known what she was thinking and didn't need any answers. Some part of him must have known what his accursed birth was like, how much she screamed and cursed when he had first come into the world. Trunks' eyes melted as he whispered, "Be careful, Mom." His eyes melted at his mother with sympathy and compassion. Then he burst in a stream of blue light towards the cave.

Soon the child would be safe from the real harm. His mother, however, would possibly not be as lucky. Her resolve became shakey. Was she doing the right thing? She shivered and crouched down in the snow, wrapping her arms around herself.

And waited.

There was a blue line streaking across the land at a distance, possibly no more than a few miles away. And then it veered towards her, opening and widening. She couldn't breathe. Her worst fear. Her living nightmare.

He stopped flying a few yards away but he continued running, skimming against the top of the snow, the snow flying up behind him in a wave that fell back to the earth. Bulma stood, slowly, hands grasping her forearms, shaking from the cold...and fear. Then he stopped a few feet before her, skidding to a stop in the snow, spraying a sheet of the icy powder at her feet.

Near a decade had passed, and still her memory of him remained the same, if not worse. His oblivion eyes were so dark, it was as though they were made of the shadows themselves, piercing through the human girl and causing her mind to go cold with fear. The red scouter, the piece of scarlet blood glass over his left eye, added a sinister touch. He was muscular and tall, towering into the sky. He wasn't much taller than she was but she felt like she had to turn her face completely upward to see him. Powerful, shimmering with an aura of dark blue. His profile was sharper than she remembered. The years had stripped him of any of his boyish features. And that cold, twisted smile spreading across his face rooted her to the spot in terror.

She was just like in his dreams, no even better, a vision. She was as pale as creamy milk and her skin gleamed in the slimmer of sunlight. She hadn't aged a day, even after eight years. No, if possible, she was even _more_ beautiful. Her blue hair was a shimmering veil covering her head and billowing in the wind. A vision of water and ice. She was shorter than most saiyan women, and slender. Her eyes were a mixture of different hues of blue, like changing waters, in defiance, anger, hatred and fear, all directed towards him. Her cheeks were a faint blue from the cold. She was well curved and the figure in her seemed softer yet even more defined. He had to fight the temptation of sweeping her into his arms and devouring her whole, claiming the woman his.

She gripped the spiraling hook, as though it could bring her a bit of comfort, a little connection to the time where she had been carefree.

"Bulma," he said icily, keeping his eyes level with hers. He had to tilt his face down at the woman in order to look her full in the face.

Bulma shivered. His voice was still deep and whole, that demonic voice that came to her during her sleepless nights. It was colder than the atmosphere around her, his breath so cold it didn't even hang in the air like hers. She replied, trying to mimic his indifference, "Vegeta."

The wind flew around them, hissing in Bulma's ears. She wished more than anything to just disappear at that moment and fly away in the wind. The silence made Bulma nervous. He was just buying his time on thinking of what he would do to her. They both knew, and also knew that the other knew, that Bulma was powerless against Vegeta. And how this encounter would end.

Her only tactic was wit against strength, it wasn't much. This was only a delay, for Trunks to reach the cave in time, perhaps his only sanctuary now. But even her delay would not last long, just like Goku's. Soon the prince would strike her dead...and she would never see her little boy again.

She cursed herself for not asking Goku for more lessons about chi. She didn't know how to form it, only how to fly and sense it. Nor were her fighting skills of any use.

Vegeta chuckled darkly. "Time has had little effect on you." She didn't reply, unsure of what to say.

"Vegeta," she said his name again, narrowing her eyes. He felt a jolt of energy sizzle through him; he loved the way this woman pronounced his name. "You've come back. I've anticipated this." Casually, she stuck her hands in her coat pockets to protect them from the cold.

Vegeta laughed again, coldly, harshly. "Woman. This day was going to come. You have given birth to an heir to the throne, a costly mistake."

Bulma's temper flared and she lost her cool demeanor. "Mistake?! Was it any choice of mine to be raped at the mere age of 16 by a _monster_?" She spat the title as though it were filth. If anything she was in a helpless position. He knew it. She knew it. She hated him for it.

Vegeta raised an eyebrow and said, with feigned concern, "Of course. One could only imagine the horrors you have endured over the last eight years." The knowing smirk on his lips made his words mocking.

All of her feelings that she had bottled up inside her for half a decade suddenly spewed. Anger. Frustration. Grief. Terror. Hatred. It all come bursting out of her, wrenched from her lips as though torn from her very soul. She glared at him with such hatred he could practically _feel_ the heat of her vision on his face. Her hand had clutched into a fist, turning paler each second. "What you have come back for," she seethed, "will not come to you."

Vegeta smirked and took a step, his feet sinking into the already knee-deep snow. Bulma didn't move, not backing away like she did years ago. He found this irritating yet oddly attracting. She was no longer afraid of him. He had been away too long. Her eyes, instead of widening, narrowed even more, her teeth bared in a tight snarl. "How do you know what I come back for?" He asked.

Bulma didn't even blink. "The child. He's your only heir to your throne, is he not? You have come to take him away from me but damn it I won't let you." She pinched her lips into a thin line. "I'm surprised he's your only heir. Being the prince of saiyans you must have seduced others and the chances of them producing another heir is very high."

Taken back, Vegeta suddenly straightened. He laughed at her, shaking his head in wonder. "Such insolence." He took another step and Bulma bit her lower lip. _Please don't come any closer._ "There is no other heir because there are no others. You're the only woman I have ever touched that is still alive. The others are _dead, _killed by my own hands, or ripped apart alive by the experience of giving birth to a saiyan. Most races are not powerful enough to survive the birth of a saiyan." He paused and looked at her strangely. "Though how a weak Chickyuuian like you could have survived escapes me."

Bulma didn't respond. She remembered Trunks' birth, ripping her body almost into two pieces. She remembered screaming so much that her voice was hoarse for a week. She remembered so much _blood_… She only survived because of her willpower, her want of the death of the prince of Vegetasei. She remembered inititally ooking at her firstborn with utter distaste but now her son was her only reason to live.

Vegeta suddenly was straight in front of her, so tall she was forced to look straight up to him. She fell a step back and he took her wrist, almost shattering the fragile bone in his hand, making her wince. Just touching her made his blood race and he felt his pulse throbbing in his head. Her skin was just _flawless_... "I am not here merely for the child. I have also been sent to retrieve the mother." Her mind jumped instantly, her skin freezing with realization. "I will not be…" She snapped, before he cut her off.

"I dislike your attitude towards me, _Bulma_," He exaggerated her name. "Perhaps I should remind you how it is done." A cruel smile was fixed on his lips.

His eyes fixed on the hook necklace. His face darkened in confusion and he studied it, reaching out to brush his fingers against it. "What an odd trinket—" he began before Bulma threw off his wrist with a quick, single movement, backing away a few steps and snarling, "Dare you touch me again and I'll… I'll…"

Her mind searched frantically for a way to keep him physically away from her, some form of a threat, something to keep him away. She opened the survival pack, then threw the bag aside and she held a short dagger in her hand. The weight of the weapon made feel reassured.

Vegeta laughed, clearly amused by her defiance. "I suppose you are going to attempt to plunge the weapon through me and _kill_ me?" He laughed again, making her burn with anger. His tone made it seem like it was impossible. Then it flickered through her mind that it was.

"Nothing's impossible," she gritted her teeth, speaking mostly to herself. "Or maybe," she tested, swinging the knife around, "Maybe it's for me." She laid its cold tip to rest against her collar bone.

Vegeta chuckled. "Women, you are truly a work of art." His eyes darkened. "You know as well as I that you aren't one for suicide theatrics."

She grimaced. Was she? The thought of death was a welcome release after all the misery of these years. But it was cowardly and weak. And she couldn't leave her little boy alone in the world without his mother.

Suddenly he wasn't there anymore and she was aware of how the knife was suddenly no longer at her neck. Vegeta was standing right in front of her, resting the knife on his stomach. "Go ahead," he taunted, "Kill me. I won't move."

Here was the man that caused her so much grief. Here was the man that caused her life to be a living nightmare. The man was completely ready for her _not_ to kill him but _oh_ how she longed to prove him wrong. In one quick jab, she could be at the end of her cruel life and start a new one. She could just ditch her problems behind her right there.

And yet… something held her back, freezing her with her fingers curled around the handle of the knife. Perhaps it was because this alien in front of her was the father of her firstborn. Perhaps it was the dread if she saw the blood of the man forever scarred on her past. Perhaps it was the horror of, if she did, then she would have sunk to his level and become no better than he.

She lowered her head. No, she couldn't do it. Even if she did, the saiyan probably had a trick behind his back ready to take her down with it. Hah, like he'd really let her kill him. She almost threw the knife aside yet temptation held her in place, urging to end of her troubles.

Bulma stood with the knife still resting on his stomach, torn. Finally, trembling, she threw the knife aside. With some regret, she watched it land somewhere in the featureless landscape, landing somewhere in the vast field of snow. "Pathetic woman." He jeered.

Trunks must have reached the cave by now. Her son was safe that was all that mattered. She looked up at the prince, her emotionless eyes drilling a hole through him. _He_ was then suddenly behind her, his arms pinning at her waist into him. She felt frozen in time, remembering a few years ago. "You are a wonder, woman," he said in her ear. "Perhaps by some sort of miracle you have gained feelings for me over the years."

"My name," she hissed angrily, "is Bulma. Not woman. Perhaps your barbaric mind cannot grasp the difference. And I will never fall in love with a demon."

"How very touching." He said dryly, his fingers unzipping her jacket. Cold air bit into her bare skin.

"I'm here to remind you that you are the lover of the prince of saiyans." He hissed in her ear. With an abrupt movement, he had twisted her around, lifting her chin upward to look at him. He suddenly kissed her, forcefully planting his lips on hers and filling her mouth with the taste of blood. His hands were in her jacket, roaming over her soft skin.

"_A saiyan isn't gentle, woman." _His words years before rang in her head. _"He won't stop at anything to get what he wants."_ Another chill fell over her mind. She couldn't run away. Her arms were hanging uselessly and she couldn't get any feeling into them. "Since we are lovers," he whispered darkly in her hair, "and you are no longer a virgin, I will suspect you will have more experience this time and know what is coming." He smirked and she felt every muscle in her body tense.

It was then she broke away from him, sliding her arms out of his grasp and running. Faster, faster, faster… She knew she couldn't make it but she didn't want to be near the saiyan any longer. She zipped her jacket up to her chin and ran, hot tears blinding her vision. Bulma wouldn't go back, she couldn't go back. Behind her was a living nightmare, her living nightmare. That was it, she was having a nightmare and she couldn't wake up. Maybe she never would. It was hopeless though. He was a large image, throwing his shadow everywhere and she couldn't run away...

Then Vegeta was back in front of her, laughing. Her foot hit something hard in the snow that drew a cut into her boot. She did not hesitate; she reached down and picked up the knife. Slightly cold in her hand, she didn't pause that time and plunged the knife into Vegeta's stomach. Slashing it into a frantic semi-circle in his stomach, she pulled it out and backed away, each step tempting her to run. His blood flew out of his wound in an angry wave.

Bulma shut her eyes tight and knew that he wasn't dead, much less hurt by the wound. He approached her, slowly, the blood from his stomach soaking into the material of his armor and dribbling onto the snow. "The most damage any woman has ever done to me," he said aloud, putting his finger to his blood. His face split into a smirk and he laughed again, this time low and menacing.

His hand shot forward and suddenly she wasn't holding the knife anymore. Suddenly the knife had collided into her, the butt of the handle jamming into her cheek, and blood was frothing from her lips. He pulled so quickly backward that she fell backward, falling onto the snow. Earth and sky melded as one.

She realized that she was nothing to him – just the mother of a brat that he came to be rid of, just like the others. Her insides shook with the meaning. Her little boy would be dead after she was taken care of.

Vegeta watched her curiously. Her blood began soaking into the snow, a mass of red pooling from her lips. Her eyes were blank, staring up into the sky. She looked like a pretty doll now broken in a heap. Regret clutched his mind as he crouched next to her. She flinched instantly when his hand touched her bruising cheek.

"I am not afraid of death," she said aloud, as though welcoming the final shot.

Vegeta laughed and said icily, "But you are afraid of me." His hand trailed down her neck in a whispery motion as he said in a mocking voice, "Aren't you?"

"I fear nothing," She declared, but her voice came out in a feeble whisper. Bulma clenched her teeth in order for the tears not to come. She had to be strong for Trunks. To the very end, whether it was Vegeta, a fall from a cliff or a sudden murder. Trunks needed her to be strong for him.

Vegeta moved a stray curl of sapphire away from her face and whispered in sinister gentleness, "Remember who I am and what I have done. Go back to twelve years ago when you first laid eyes on me and remember why."

Not according to her will, her eyes shut and all the memories flooded back...

* * *

12 years ago

* * *

The stench of fresh blood rose from the ground, from a thousand dying bodies. A silence hovered in an ominous cloud over the eerily empty city, shattered by an occasional scream, then swallowed up immediately after. The ruins of the city stood like hulking silent giants - remnants of skyscrapers, fallen billboards, up-torn roads, shards of glass scattered across sidewalks like shimmering, transparent snow.

Standing on the top of a building, the prince of saiyans surveyed the ground before him with a note of satisfaction. His two partners were off, Kami knew where, somewhere here in the wreckage, probably taking out their bloodlust on some poor survivors. But he stood above it all, gazing down at ruins before him, basking in relish of it all.

Under an hour's time, it had only taken the three of them to render a populated, bustling city, full of life and light and movement and noise, into this quiet, eerie graveyard. The world was painted with crimson - on his hands, his face. The blood of millions upon him. He relished in his power, in their fear in their eyes. How those children screamed, how women ran, how grown men fell crying on their faces, reduced to helpless tears in his wake. Oh, they were so powerless before him. In spite all their running, crying and pleading, in the end, he was the one who determined their fate. Clenched in his very hand was Death, and none could escape him.

A shiver tore through him and he bent his head toward the sky above him, clenching his fists on either side of him. The sun shimmered through the darkened clouds and shone upon him like a blessing. _This_ was power. _This_ was life. He was young and in the prime of his power, none could defy him, none could escape him.

_But is this it?_ A tiny voice said in the back of his mind. Annoyed, he attempted to ignore it again, but it seemed to be growing louder of late. _Is this all there is?_

Static burst from his scouter. Irritated for the interruption of peace, he answered curtly, "What."

"Well, Nappa and I uncovered a huge group of stragglers down here - we're talking like 50-60 people all in this underground tunnel. But when we cornered them, they all bolted and we're having a tough time tracking them down. Now, _I _wasn't going to call you, but Nappa said that you might be interested…"

A malicious smirk tilted across his lips as he regarded the world below him. The lives of these mortals were pathetic, weak, insects crawling in the dust. For a fleeting moment, he recalled the surge of adrenaline in his veins, the ecstasy of his own power thrilling him, their fearful screams in the air, painting the world crimson. His grin widened savagely. "I'll be there."

Stepping on the side of the building, he regarded the city before him - those countless winding streets, a thousand floors to a building, deep alleyways running between huge skyscrapers. A million rocks for these pests to scrabble underneath for cover. Oh, he would find them.

He always caught his prey in the end.

He leapt off the building in a surge, letting gravity take him as he shot down the side of the building, his own falling reflection caught on the shimmering surface of the desecrated tower like a vertical stream. A sensation tore deep from his chest and he released it in a howl of dark laughter echoing off the skyscrapers around him…

* * *

The young girl stood staring open-mouthed at where the laughing man had stepped off and fallen off the skyscraper. She watched him with horrified eyes as he was about to impact the ground - when he suddenly veered off and took flight in a shimmer of blue aura.

"Mikomi!" Bulma called to the child. The 16-year old made her way unsteadily around the rubble, skidding off the mound to land next to the girl. "Come on," she said gently to the child she had known for a scarce hour. "The others are moving on without us. We have to go find your mother, remember, Komi-chan?"

Mikomi, or Komi as Bulma had come to call her, looked back at her with tearful eyes and nodded meekly. Bulma pulled the girl into a tight hug and smoothed her hair gently. "Don't worry, we'll find her," she said, trying to be as cheerful as possible. "I'm sure she's with the other group, okay? We just have to keep moving so we can get back to her. Can you walk?"

Komi shook her head and Bulma stooped down to pick the tiny girl up in her arms to keep moving along.

The explosion an hour ago had occurred without a single warning. Since then, a series of massive explosions had occurred and for a while, the world seemed to be erupting with noise. Skyscrapers toppled. Screams echoed. Buildings collapsed. Chaos ensued. Then it was all swallowed up in a hush of eerie quiet.

No one knew for certain what was happening, but everyone could hazard a guess. The saiyans had landed a few weeks earlier and had begun their siege on most of the major cities. But no one had thought that they would ever come _here_. Their city was too remote, too small, too far from the landing site. But they came anyway and now the city was in smoldering ruin.

As for Bulma, she found a shred of luck on her side. She had been down in the subways when the explosions had occurred. While the subway train itself came to a screeching halt, none had been seriously injured. For the first part of an hour, they remained in the subway tunnels, listening with horror to the havoc on the surface. In that time period, Bulma met Mikomi and her kind mother. Then, the saiyans themselves had discovered and came into the tunnels. Everyone fled, scattering in all directions to escape, and in the confusion, nearly everyone was separated. Mikomi's mother had vanished and Bulma could only hope that she also escaped to the surface.

But Bulma had her own reasons to fear and loathe the saiyan invaders. Her precious father was unfortunately on a business trip at the time in one of the biggest cities - just when the saiyans first attacked. Bulma had not heard from him since - she didn't know whether he was dead or not.

Her dearest companions had departed to defend their planet nearly a week ago. All of their faces were imprinted vividly in her mind, wonderful faces from her childhood: Kirrin, Tien, Piccolo, Goku, his son Gohan, and Yamcha. They departed like heroes on an epic journey of a lifetime, in such a manner that Bulma longed desperately to go with them, to taste the thrill of true adventure once again.

But Yamcha insisted. He held her securely in his arms, tilting her chin up at him with his broad smile lighting his face. _"No, B-chan. Stay here, for me. Give me a reason to fight. That every time I take a breath, every time I miss you, I'll be reminded of why I'm fighting." _Then he had given her a tender kiss and left her with a hooked necklace and his heart, the promise of their future together hanging in the air.

Oh Yamcha, where are you? Bulma thought fervently. If only they had never left! Then the saiyans themselves would have come to them!

She forced the thoughts out of her mind and turned to more practical things. Hoisting the child in her arms, Bulma picked up her pace to follow the other group of stragglers. There were about four or five others with them now - a widow, an anxious man, three sisters younger than she, and a blind war veteran. Bulma had yet to learn their names, but names could wait. The blind man, who was kind yet experienced, had assumed leadership and decided the smartest move during this unearthly calm was to get out of the city as far away as possible.

"What were you looking at, Komi-chan?" Bulma asked the child, trying to distract her thoughts.

She answered in her soft voice, "At the man falling off the building. He was laughing."

Bulma blinked in surprise, astonished by the gruesome sight the girl had seen. She grimaced. Perhaps someone had been stranded on the top of a building and became so desperate, they jumped off from sheer hysteria. "Did you see him fall?"

"No. Right before he fell, he started flying, just like a bird."

Bulma smiled weakly. The imaginations of children were adorable, albeit untimely.

"Let's keep going then," she told the child very gently. "We're looking for your mother, remember?"

"But Bulma!" the child cried out unexpectedly, clinging to her fearfully. "He was coming this way! I'm scared!"

Bulma gently disentangled the girl's hands from her neck. She glanced up - the group was beginning to move on. The nervous young man was calling out to them to catch up. "Komi, don't be ridiculous," Bulma informed the child. "You're perfectly safe, all right? I promise that-..." Then, inexplicably, she felt a dull prickling under her skin.

She felt the wind rush around her in a cold gust of air, her hair streaming around her face. The nervous young man, who was in the middle of waving, suddenly paled visibly, choking out a wordless half-cry at the sight of something horrible that she could not see. Suddenly he crumpled over in a bloody heap, seemingly without any explanation. The widow was suddenly sent flying backwards into a building, smashing against the debris like a rag doll without even so much a breath. The war veteran, hearing what was going on around him, turned and yelled blindly at whoever remained: "Run!" Suddenly, there was a great burst of light and a gaping hole appeared in his chest. He slumped over, gasping, and he too was slain.

All too suddenly, Bulma was aware of a shadow casting over her, an undeniable presence before her, a breath calm and even like a predator. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Komi was clinging to her, sobbing weakly.

A saiyan.

He was standing on a pile of debris, investigating his bloody handiwork with a disdained, satisfied look in his eyes. An ebony flame crowned his head, defying gravity. His face was smeared in crimson blood and gore, his hands soaked in it. Sunlight shone around him, casting her into his deep shadow. Never before in her life had Bulma Briefs felt so tiny. Then suddenly, his eyes snapped to hers. Bulma felt her chest constrict with fear. His eyes were a bottomless black void, draining her very strength away. On instinct, she wanted to run, but she couldn't move. She stared back into the eyes of a killer.

His disdained mouth suddenly twisted into a crooked smirk.

"_Run,_" he whispered.

Then the spell seemed to have broken. Bulma moved. She turned to the remaining three girls, frozen with fright. _"Run_!" She screamed. She could hear his laughter echoing somewhere behind her between the buildings and she could hear her own breath in her ears, fast and hard, Komi's sobs into her shoulder. She clung to the child in her arms as a source of hope. The three girls following, one in hysterical tears. She had to survive, this child had to survive, they all needed survive, oh they would, oh please oh please oh please...

She could hear him then. He wasn't flying, simply running behind them, with swift churning of powerful legs far stronger than hers. She ran blindly towards a building when suddenly, there was another flash of light and it fell towards her, creaking and groaning. She leapt aside with a cry torn in her throat as she landed heavily on her side. The building crashed onto the ground - and they just barely dodged it. Komi slipped from her grasp as Bulma cradled her scraped arm, grimacing from the pain. Tears pricked her eyes. The building lay obscuring her path, cornering her. And there was a shadow on the wall, growing smaller as it approached.

"Bulma!" Komi whimpered helplessly, eyes darting desperately as she tugged her arm. "Hurry, we've got to go!"

"Please Bulma!" The oldest girl pleaded. She looked like she might have been twelve.

Bulma tried to sit up but hot knives seemed to sink into her arm. She clutched it, sinking her nails into her skin, hissing against the pain. No, not now...

Footsteps echoed on the buildings around them as he approached. No—they were trapped! Fear and instincts flared her senses to life: she stumbled to her feet. She seized the child back into her good arm and passed her to the oldest sister. She lurched to her feet, blinking past the sudden painful tears, and ran to the first opening in sight: a miraculous standing building. "Follow me!" She yelled. "Quickly!" They hurried along after her, youngest whimpering.

The lighting was swallowed by the building as they ran inside for cover. Bulma's eyes flickered around the building – it seemed like a usual office building. Her mind raced. Elevators would be out. Where could they go? They needed to hide, and then, run when it was clear. Underground? Or would it become their tomb? Above? Or would they be thrown like fledglings from their perch? She started for the emergency stair case, pulling them along. Her arm ached, but she forced herself to keep going, keep going, to be strong.

Then her heart sank – the stairs going down had been completely crushed by the lower part of the building. She could hear him approaching faster now – there was no choice! She pushed the girls upward and they clambered up the stairs as silently and quickly as possible. Bulma frantically tried to calculate a better situation – they were going up now, but where to? They couldn't go anywhere! They were heading straight to a dead end! The skies were his to reign – she had no trump card!

"We've got to run – hide!" the oldest girl said decisively. "Split up!" she commanded her sisters. They suddenly rushed in front of Bulma and vanished into different rooms. Just like that, and they were separated.

"No!" she whispered, horrified, standing alone in the hallway. "No, that won't work, it—" _It'll just become a game to him_.

Then she heard him approaching again, each firm step echoing up the stairs deliberate and mocking.

She hurried into the closest office room – the door was hanging by one hinge. Do not think, do not move, do not breathe…

She pressed herself against the back of a desk, breathing shallowly. She rested her head against the wall – exhaustion and desperation coming over her, cradling her arm. The quiet screamed in her ears. She could hear the saiyan's footsteps, each step echoing her thudding heartbeat and driving nails into her brain. How could this happen to them? Why now, why here?

_No! I've got to think— _What was it that Kurrin and Gohan had told her in the past? Suppressing…chi? Something like that? That scouter on his face detected chi. No! Then they were sitting ducks in these rooms, stupid animals waiting to be slaughtered one by one!

No, she had to distract him. Bulma crouched and uneasily made her way across the grass-strewn floor. The workers, she realized in a strange detached way, must have all evacuated the building long ago. The city was so quiet though – where could they have gone? She forced herself not to think about it, not now. She pressed herself against the wall beside the door, and waited, her heartbeat thudding erratically. The suspense itself was going to be the death of her.

_Focus, Bulma! _She had to do something! What was her next step? She had no weapon, no gun, nothing. Chi – what was it that Kirrin and Gohan said about chi? She forced herself to try to remember what they had tried to explain to her before. Like an energy source inside her body. If she could focus it - maybe she could… she could… Oh, but she never had any training! She cursed herself for not asking Goku when there had been time. Then her eyes snapped to a thick metal rod with shards of glass attached, probably blasted off of one of these shelves. Numbly, she reached out and grabbed it.

Then she was aware of the shadow that appeared in the windows, casting across the ground. She huddled underneath them, trying to make herself as small as possible. Each step was a sonic boom that blared across her ears.

_Oh Kami, what do I do?_

Then she was aware that the footsteps stopped. She could hear his breathing, slow, deep, deliberate. She felt like she would burst from holding her breath so long. Her heartbeat sounded like a machine gun going off in her mind. Then he spoke, his voice low, deliberate, demonic:

"I can hear your heartbeat, girl."

Fear shot up her legs and grounded her to her spot. Her mouth went dry, her mind blank. _Now, Bulma! Now! _But she was frozen with fear. Her body wouldn't respond, she was trembling so bad…

_No! _I've got to save them!

Instinct took over. She burst out of the room, knocking the door over in the process. Without thinking, she moved. Her old fencing lessons flooded her instincts – she stabbed at him in a frenzied series of formations.

Then it occurred to her that not a single one even made contact.

He was holding the end of the rod between his thumb and forefinger. In a twist of his wrist, the rod was bent and snapped uselessly out of shape. A wicked smirk ignited his face as he looked at her, leering. "Odd," he whispered, his dark eyes smoldering. "The first among thousands to stand up and fight." He grasped the rod with his entire hand and pulled her closer. "I'm curious, is it sheer stupidity or bravery that moves you, girl?"

Cornered, there was nothing left. Nothing left, save one, the very last one.

Chi – she had to focus on her energy, feel the world around her— She closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. Perhaps it was her heightened awareness of the moment or her surging adrenaline – but she felt it as surely as though she was seeing it. A glowing sensation flowing in her body in waves of gold, through her veins, to her ankles, down to her very fingertips. The four dull sparks shimmering somewhere behind her. And then this reservoir of sheer _power_ coming across like waves before her, so fast and strong and unyielding that she was nearly blown away.

She did not think, she did not question – she _moved. _She channeled that golden wave within her into her hand, focusing, concentrating, imagining it moving along her arm, twisting and crackling in electric waves, and moved. Standing her ground, she reeled her arm back and pummeled it forward. She felt it hit his armor that time, and this time, felt that material give way.

She opened her eyes in time to see the saiyan stumble backwards a few steps. There was a cavity in the center of his armor from where her hit had connected, and she could see his bare flesh underneath, where his heart should have been, had he had one.

His eyes rose to hers, thunderstruck. _No_, impossible – a simple Chickyuuian girl like her, harness the power of chi and inflict injury on _him_, the Prince of all Saiyans? But even she seemed surprised from her expression. His scouter alerted him to her steadying rising chi levels. How could he fail to notice earlier? Her chi was significantly higher than those squabbling insects behind her, hiding beneath their pebbles. This was impossible – she was only a Chickyuuian girl!

As surprised as she was, she stood firm and leveled a hard-eyed glare at him. She seethed with a temper all too similar to his own. Chi streamed from her lowered fist, uncontrolled and wild.

His lips curled back into a delighted smirk. What a pleasant surprise, to encounter this strange girl on a day like this. And here he had thought he was getting bored.

"Let's play a game, girl," he said softly. She looked up and met his eyes without flinching, a feat even his own guards could not handle. "I'll be the predator, and you and your companions the prey. I'll count to ten to give you a start, and if you can evade me for, let's say, thirteen minutes, then I'll let one of you live. If I catch you before then…." He leaned his forward , his demonic smirk spreading. "_All hell will break loose_," he uttered darkly.

Fear coiled its vines around her throat and choked any words there. For a moment, she had thought that she had done significant damage to him- but that hope dried up immediately when she saw the expression of sick delight ignite across his face.

His hard mouth opened.

"One."

And then she was running.

She had played into his hands. _Stupid, idiot girl._ She played right into his trap. Instead of injuring him or disarming him, she only made his twisted game last longer. And now he was all the ready to use them for his enjoyment.

But she had to win. It was a game, and he held all the pieces, but _she had to win_.

Eight seconds. Not enough time to find the others. Thirteen minutes. Her mind reeled. Could they evade the prince of saiyans for thirteen minutes? Kami, it was impossible. What could she do? What should she do?

Run. To the farthest place he would expect. Her jumbled thoughts were coming together. He was expecting her first instinct to protect the others, and thus, lead him to them. She was the prize now; she had caught his attention. He would seek her first. So use that, she decided firmly. Lead him away from the others. So suppress her instinct and go the opposite direction, the farthest place imaginable. She made an abrupt turn in the hallway and, without thinking, leapt through the broken window.

The opposite building was falling away at a slant, and within jumping distance. She skidded down the length of the building, shards of glass tumbling with her, the sky reflected in the shiny skyscraper at her feet. She could hear her breath shuddering in her ears.

_Follow me! Chase me! Come to me!_

Three seconds. The street was cracked and many of the buildings had toppled over. Two seconds. On impulse, she darted into the sound building on her right. One second.

An explosion erupted behind her, from the building that she had just escaped. She muffled her hands over her mouth, to silence the scream rising in her throat as she watched it crumble to the ground. He did not. He did not.

But he did.

She watched as the building containing the three sisters and Komi smolder to the crowd. Dust enveloped the streets.

Frustration and helpless tears pricked her eyes. A hopeless rage consumed her. He tricked her! He had tricked her! Fool! She took his words to heart and believed him! She was a fool for believing he would keep true to his game! She thought she could win if she played by his rules, but he broke them anyway! She took a step forward. Maybe there was a chance that they were still alive. Should she go back and check? No, no that's what he wants. For her to come back to him. And thus end the game. Perhaps the game was over, but already she had lost the lives of her companions. But she was still alive, and maybe that meant that she was still a player. Either way, she couldn't go back, not now. There was nothing she could do, but keep running.

Right when she was about to run into the street, she saw a bright light stream from the fallen building. She ducked behind a cement wall and watched him from her safe spot. He rose high above the city ruins, his dark hair flaming above his blue aura. Searching. For her. With her mind slowly beginning to clear, she recalled Kurrin and Gohan's instructions to lower her chi levels.

She had to move though. Staying here would only delay the inevitable. Most likely, the saiyans would want to be thorough as possible and kill as many stragglers as they could find before moving onto the next city. If she hid here, the possibility of being found would increase. Especially since she wasn't sure how effective the suppressing-chi method worked. She wasn't about to take that gamble either.

_Onward and forward then,_ she decided firmly. She glanced back at where the building had fallen, mourning the loss of the child and nameless sisters. Then moved forward. She began moving from building to building quietly, keeping a sharp eye on the skies above, alert for any movement or sounds around her. The eerie silence covering the fallen city screamed in her ears. She couldn't hear anything but the sound of her frantic heartbeat drumming crazily in her head.

She continued on through the wreckage of fallen walls, broken glass and vehicles. There were craters riddled through the ground, as though a rain of asteroids had fallen. Sometimes she saw broken bloodied fresh corpses on the ground from where they had fallen from the buildings. She skirted around them, refusing to look at them, horror rising in her throat. In some parts of the city there were scattered fires smoldering. Every few minutes she would pause and wait in the shadows of wreckage, heart pounding, before moving on. On several occasions, she saw that same saiyan swooping above the buildings, scanning the fallen wreckage, before taking off again. Each time, so far, she had managed to elude him.

While resting beneath the remains of the public library sign, she saw a flash of bright movement. Immediately, she crouched low beneath the wreckage. It was one of the saiyans hovering over the street, casually scanning the ruins for any signs of life. She wasn't sure if it was the one from before or not.

He suddenly stopped midair and grabbed at the scouter on his cheek. "What is it, prince?"

By the sound of his voice, it couldn't have been the saiyan from before. On closer inspection, there was no way it could have been the saiyan from before. This one had spikey hair almost to his knees. She wondered how she missed such a huge detail.

"You want us to _what_?" Another pause.

_What?_ Bulma's heart hammered loudly. You want them to what? Join in the search? Obliterate the city? Dissolve the last survivors to ash and dust? Eat the corpses? Were saiyans cannibalistic?

"You want us to _leave_?!"

What? Did she hear right? She suddenly grew hopeful. Were they moving on then? To the next city? Already? That one saiyan had given up the chase then? This was greater than she could have dreamed.

"But there are still survivors. We can still root them out—" He was cut off, and wincing. "No that's not disobeying your order. All right. We'll move onto the next city then. Hope you know what you're doing, prince." He lowered his hand from the scouter and the next thing Bulma knew, he was a bright blue line streaking up towards the sky. _"Oy Nappa! Let's go!" _he hollered. Another line streaked upwards to join his, then the lines streaked off in the distance.

They were gone! Bulma could barely contain her joy. She was safe! Free! She had won! She practically went head to head with a saiyan, and she was still alive! Oh, wait until she could tell Yamcha! That'd show him to leave her behind next time! She was half-tempted to whoop and holler, but there was no saying that they wouldn't come back, so she settled for a bright toothy smile on her face and an ocassional fist-pump in the air every few moments.

For the meanwhile, she figured it would be best to determine what to do at this point. She was pretty much helpless until the other Z fighters arrived anyway. Maybe she could figure out a way to contact them without the saiyans noticing. Did any of them have any sort of transmitter on them? As she clambered out of the wreckage, she tried to recall what Yamcha packed.

She skidded down the length of the pile of miscellaneous junk. Now then. Supplies. She tried to remember where the general store was and headed in that direction.

Then a cold wave washed over her. No, wait. Something was wrong.

She felt a sharp prick of intuition, and she leapt back just in time before something collided into the ground and splattered all over her. Something red. With horror, she found herself staring into the dead eyes of the mangled oldest sister. With a terrified shriek, she sprang away. Unwillingly, she found herself staring at the corpse in front of her – there was a gaping hole with her intestines spilling out and all the limbs seemed to be twisted in the wrong places. Her stomach gave a violent lurch at the sight.

The deep voice spoke and she flinched unexpectedly; she hadn't noticed him at all.

"You lose."

She looked up. He was standing at the top of a collapsed building, smirking darkly down at her. And there, dangling from his arm from five stories high, was a struggling, wailing Komi.

The words got caught in her throat from horror and she could barely say a word. "Stop—please don't…!"

His smirk widened but he did not move the child. "You caught me off guard. I didn't think you would leave your companions behind like that. And to think, you managed to evade me for practically an hour. If only your companions were as lucky." His horrible laughter resounded through the remains of the city walls.

"I thought you had left," she said numbly. "The others —I saw them fly from the city."

"You're right. I ordered my men to leave the city. After all, the game was between you and I, wasn't it? But then again, that was what caused you to let down your guard, wasn't it?" He laughed again. Komi shrieked in fear. He made a face and gave her a violent shake. "By Kami, this thing is annoying. Maybe I ought to just put it out of its misery." His hand lowered.

"Stop!" Bulma screamed. "I evaded you for an hour, didn't I? I played your stupid game, and I won! You said—" she stumbled over her words. Could one reason with a demon? Could one hold a murderer to a code of honor? "You said that if I evaded you for thirteen minutes, you would let one of us live. I've won, so let Komi live!"

He raised an eyebrow curiously at her and his expression was almost solemn. Then he levitated downward so that he stood across from her. She felt her throat go dry with fear. Even on level ground, he was still taller than her. She was aware now, more than ever, of the power radiating from him.

Then all of a sudden, he relaxed. "All right," he agreed. "Let's say you win then." Relief flooded through her. Then a hard glint entered his eyes. "But who said you got to choose who lives?"

Bulma's mouth fell open. In one blink, he was standing before her with Komi struggling in his grasp, the next, he had flung her spiraling through the air, tumbling helplessly, and then there was a bright streak of light, and what remained of the child fluttered down in bloody ash.

The saiyan turned around expectantly, and Bulma was on her feet, screaming. She dove at him, chi streaming wildly from her form, and he danced backward, laughing in revelry at her passion. He finally caught both hands above her head. She glared at him through her tears, tears of rage and grief, but not fear. Fearlessness and defiance reflected in her sapphire eyes set his blood on fire.

Magnificent.

"And then there was one," he murmured ominously. His lips crashed onto hers.

She screamed, indignant, repulsed, enraged, struggling in his grasp, but he didn't move, unaffected by her attempts. She tried to level another hit at his head - he merely twisted her wrist painfully. She writhed, screaming curses at him and his eyes snapped open, looking down on her with haughty amusement, those dark hell eyes. His lips twisted into a cruel smile.

"_Mine,"_ he uttered against her bared mouth. All along, his existence had been defined by the battlefield, the killing, his conquest for glory and power. To have his name known and feared. The women in the past had been nothing more than to add to his power, and then he tired of them. But this—this was the first that he wanted to claim as his. "For now and a lifetime." He smirked and looked down into her burning blue eyes. "_Until death do us part_," he added mockingly, before crushing her small human body against his.

* * *

A/N: I forgot to mention last time that I adjusted the time frame for this story because I felt like Trunks should have been older. So here is a rough estimate of the time scale (hopefully I stay consistent):

Siege: 4 years  
Time jump: 8 years

So this makes the ages:

Trunks: 8 years  
Bulma: 28 years  
Vegeta: 30 years  
Goku: 24 years  
Goten: ~8 years

Yeah hopefully my math makes sense :D

Let me know what you guys think!


	3. Chapter 3

Papercut: The Face Within

Cabalistic

Part One: Nightmares

* * *

Chapter III

Present

* * *

Bulma opened her eyes slowly, turning her face upwards toward Vegeta. "I am not afraid," she repeated herself, meeting his gaze directly.

Vegeta laughed again and confirmed, "Not of death, but you _are_ afraid of me."

She had no answer. Her mind was racing with images of the girl abruptly thrown into the air, tumbling, tumbling, tumbling into ash. But that girl had been lucky, far more fortunate than she. At the time, she thought that, once he had his way, once the rape was over, he would dispose of her, killing her or abandoning her to her fate.

But she was wrong. Completely. Once she had fallen into the saiyan's possession, he had kept her. Locked, hand and foot, in chains in dark underground cells or abandoned apartments. Isolated in ruined cities, listening to the horrors around her. Scouring, scavenging in the dark ruins for anything to eat. And he would return, after weeks at times, after destroying cities and killing millions to rape and torment her. Oh, she fought, she tried to escape…but he always found her. And bring her back. He kept her out of sight from everyone, even his own partners. He was the only one she ever saw. Her only companion, a monster and demon. Days ran together, nights dragged on endlessly like a knife to her skin.

He traced his hand along her cheek, a gesture so gentle it seemed intimate. "You poor, ignorant girl. You still think you can escape, but you can't."

Bulma stared back at him steadily. "I got away once," she reminded him darkly. "I can do it again."

He tilted his head and that crooked grin only widened, teeth flashing. "But I'm back, aren't I? Even after all these years, I have returned, come to claim what is mine."

"I am _not yours_!" Bulma snarled.

His hand stilled. Abruptly, he seized her jaw upward and his lips crashed down on hers. Teeth and tongue, biting, thrusting, demanding. She screamed against his mouth, thrashing wildly, but he only slammed her against the ground, so hard she lost her breath. His nails dug into her shoulders.

These were his old, cruel antics – he was trying to break her willpower like he had once done. She had always imagined herself twisting free, slamming his nose into his skull, wrenching her fingers into his eye sockets, kneeing him between his legs. But she had forgotten his monstrous strength. He had her pinned down. Bulma pushed against his chest with no result until he willingly released her less than an inch away from her face. His leering face loomed in her vision, possessing eyes drilling deep into hers. "_Stop_," she hissed, a tear running from her eye unchecked. _"I don't belong to anyone!"_

He laughed cruelly and his breath came down like mist on her face. "Wrong answer, _woman_," he ground out, devouring her lips once more.

Trembling with the effort, she couldn't breathe. His hands were everywhere, his mouth at her lips, her neck, her shoulder— pain and revulsion coursed through her, but she could do _nothing_. Helplessness washed over her in a cold wave – nothing had changed over the course of twelve years, _nothing_, she was still that powerless naïve sixteen year old trying to bargain with the murderer for the child's life. _After all this time, why has nothing changed? _

Moments dragged past until he finally released her, clenching and raising her jaw tightly to force her to look directly in his black eyes. "Whose are you?" he demanded.

Tears were running down her face and vanishing into her hair. Her helplessness reflected in her blue eyes.

"Yours," she whispered.

A triumphant smirk grew on his face. He pressed a chaste kiss against her forehead, as endearing as a father. "Good girl."

Sudden static hissed through his scouter, making the Prince's attention turn to the machine. He pressed the button near his ear and said in a voice drenched in complete irritation, "What Raditz."

The voice was almost indecipherable in his ear, edged in static as Raditz responded, "We found the brat."

The woman imprisoned against his chest cried out. She was shaking now, shaking in fear, realizing that she had lost. Trunks had been found and there was nothing she could do now. Everything was spiraling beyond her control. All of their safety measures had failed – first Goku, now her. Her firstborn wasn't safe anymore and in the end, everything she did didn't matter.

Vegeta smirked at her reaction. He replied in a cool steely voice while keeping his cold, gleaming eyes on Bulma, "We're coming."

"_We?!"_ Raditz echoed in confusion as Vegeta turned off the scouter. Nothing irritated him more than repeating stupid things to stupid people.

She glared at him, shaking with anger. Vegeta laughed. He had won. Try as she might, she could deny it no longer. He lifted her as easily as a child, trapped to his chest as he took off into flight.

They passed the house, which Bulma looked longingly at. Then she realized with horror that the house was completely destroyed. A crater was a few yards away and in the center, laid a body. "Goku—!" She tried to scream, but it only came in a feeble whisper, recognizing the bright orange gi and disarrayed hair. No sound came out and the man didn't move, lying crumpled in a heap.

"He fought well, Kakarot. A shame the fool chose the wrong side."

_All of earth's warriors are gone...What am I supposed to do? _

A whimper escaped her lips as he landed onto the ground. When he set her down she fell, wobbling like a newborn colt, meeting the snow with her knees and hands. She still couldn't move. All of her muscles were still tensed up and coiled like a snake ready to strike, yet numb and cold at the same time. She felt tears running down the sides of her face in streams of anguish. Her mind was blank.

She heard the voices speaking, first Vegeta, demanding, "Where's the brat?"

There was a bit of shuffling around and she heard a child's whimpering. _Trunks_, she wanted to cry. Bulma wanted to hold her son and hide her face in his lavender hair. Still she couldn't move.

Then there was silence. "You stupid bastard!" Vegeta snarled. "If _that_ was my brat then you'd think it'd look more like me!" Bulma's heart quickened. It wasn't Trunks?

"Auntie…Bulma?" A little voice called out, shaking with fear. She looked up, eyes widened in aghast as she looked into the eyes of Goten, son of Goku. Both eyes were blackened and terrified and he pressed his hands against his mouth to keep from crying out. A sliver of a tear crept from his eye as he blurted out, "They killed Mom!"

_Chi Chi!_

"Look," one of the saiyans said lazily, "You said find the half-blood brat and we did. This is the half-blood."

Vegeta rolled his eyes at Nappa and glared at his other partner. "Who does he look like, fool?"

Radditz glanced at the child, then burst out laughing. "I can't believe it—another whelp from Kakarot! Won't Father be pleased?"

Vegeta did not smile. He almost looked bored. "Find the right brat this time, you two."

"What about Kakarot's whelp?"

Vegeta answered in an emotionless voice, "Kill him."

The order struck a chord in Bulma. Awareness sparked through her. She looked up, seeing the blade hanging from Vegeta's belt, gleaming in the winter's sun. In a quick movement, she had it in her hands. It felt heavy still, heavier than anything she ever carried.

It was like time stood still. She screamed, "Go, Goten!" The child didn't hesitate to scamper on his small legs to run as she clenched the blade, sizzling hot with chi, and hurled the blade as hard as she could. _Make it hit, make it hit, _she prayed silently.

The blade hit its target— driving through Nappa's left temple. The bulky, enormous saiyan died on impact, before his corpse hit the ground. The other two saiyans were so occupied by his death that Goten was able to slide away. The next thing Bulma knew, she was fleeing.

_Sorry Dad, _she thought, dodging through the undergrowth, _I won't join you in hell just yet. _A vice-like grip clawed her shoulder, yanking her to a stop, the impact almost jerking her arm out of its socket. She twisted around, snarling, "Let me go or I'll—"

"_How dare you threaten me._" Vegeta's voice came in a deadly whisper. "You killed my partner, and now you're _threatening me?!_" He clenched a hand tight around her throat. She twisted, choking, her vision flickering, as he slammed her against a tree, which groaned from the impact. "_You will regret this, I swear it—_"

"_Mom!_" A coarse voice yelled. _Trunks?_ Suddenly Vegeta was thrown off in the other direction by the invisible force, plummeting into somewhere in the undergrowth. She stumbled, her head spinning, and turned to see her son, who stood there, panting, both hands clenched into fists.

Perspiration beaded down his forehead and his purple hair flew up in wild directions. "Trunks!" She threw her arms around the small boy. His face didn't change or make any emotion, so much like his father. "Mom, are you okay?" His eyes were frantic.

"I'm fine," she managed in a weak voice, staggering to her feet.

Trunks whipped his head around, glaring at the underbrush. "It's them, right?" he said under his breath. "The people that killed grandpa."

Bulma froze. _He still doesn't know. _He still didn't know his true heritage, didn't know his own reflection to the monster he had just attacked. "Something like that." She said faintly. "Run," she said, paling when she realized that her son was standing in a fighting stance. "Run, Trunks. You don't understand he—"

"—killed your family!" Trunks snapped at his mother, his eyes blazing. Like Vegeta. The sight of that expression on her son's face nearly broke her heart. The son of a monster, the offspring and heir of the nightmare that was shredding their world to splinters.

"How cute," Vegeta drawled as he came into view, brushing his shoulders off of debris. His eyes gleamed with hidden recognition when he saw Trunks. The small boy stood his ground under his father's gaze, unafraid, unknowing.

Vegeta laughed then, low and cold, resounding around the clearing. _Run, _Bulma wanted to yell but her voice seemed as froze. "You have quite a kick, _boy_," Vegeta commented coolly, fixing Trunks with an icy stare as he rubbed the other side of his head. Trunks didn't move, standing with his arm in front of his mother, protectively. Vegeta grinned, evilly, crouching into a stance, dark eyes gleaming. "Let's compare."

There was a blinding flash of movement and Trunks went stiff, as Vegeta appeared to his side, bringing his hand down hard on his head. Bulma's human eyes couldn't follow him as her son collapsed onto the ground, unmoving. It reminded her of the child, broken and tumbling in the wind.

She cried out.

"Quite a brat you raised, woman." Vegeta said, eyes glittering. "Taught him to even kick his own father."

"A trait a child will pick up if his father is a monster," she spat. She crouched down next to her son's unconscious body, gently touching the side of his neck. Thankfully, she felt a pulse. The side of his head was wet with blood and she could feel it swelling. She hugged his limp body to her, feeling her insides quiver with the desperate need to sob. She looked up and glared at Vegeta with a menacing death glare.

"I don't get what kind of sick amusement you get from this game of death." She snarled.

"It may be a game to you, woman. But not for me." Vegeta said scowling suddenly, his lips turning downward. "This is something I must do. I've come back to get what is _mine_." His hand snared her chin, forcing her face to look up at him. "And this time, I win." His eyes drilled into hers. Her heart froze in place.

She looked into his darkened eyes, into the depths of hell, into the eyes of death itself. The perfect curve of his eyebrows jetting down to a dark narrow into eyes that smoldered into Bulma, biting her with teeth and claws. She couldn't move. The sight terrified her and she couldn't even look away.

With sudden courage Bulma suddenly smiled darkly and said, "I am not afraid, saiyan. You plan to kill me while I am already dead. I have been dead for twelve years now. I am dead and I am not afraid. If you kill me, you'll just kill the ghost that remains. The person within me is nothing but a shadow of who I was."

Vegeta suddenly laughed, bringing down his face near her ear. "I wouldn't want to ruin your plans, _again_, but I'm not going to kill you. What I have, in store for you…" he licked his lips and said in a purr, "is _far_ better."

* * *

Bulma was tied up, gagged and propped carelessly against their space pods, next to her unconscious son. The bruise on the side of his head had swelled into a bad purple and red. It had burst a bit as well and a trickle of blood ran down the side of his face. She grimaced. At least Goten got away.

But what chance did the child have? No food, no water and no older than a child.

If only the saiyans never came. She let her head fall on her chest, closing her eyes from the faint trail of pain that ached her body. But then...Trunks never would have been born.

Would that be for the best? Even if her motherly instincts chewed her away, would it have been best for Trunks to be born? Or would her son only become a monster, a clone of his father to destroy more innocent lives? Trunks was the best thing that came out of the saiyans, Bulma fervently believed, but how would someone else view him in the future?

Enraged, she fidgeted angrily, grimacing against the gag. No! Trunks wasn't even the right child! She was supposed to be with Yamcha! Not this monster, not this nightmare, fighting and fleeing these demons, alone, with her only child at her side.

Then she heard low voices. Closing her eyes to feign sleep, she listened. Vegeta first: "…now that Nappa has been disposed, we need to find someone to take his place."

Radditz's lower, rasher voice answered him bluntly, "No one'll take his place. Damn bastard. Who'd have thought that he'd get killed by some Chickyuuian bitch?"

Vegeta continued, purposely ignoring the saiyan, "I'm thinking of Kakarot. Sure, he's a low-rated saiyan but he's still a saiyan. Not to mention he survived two battles against me. He's improved drastically over eight years, especially on this low gravity planet. Think he could take on Vegetasei?"

Bulma exhaled in relief. Goku was still alive! That meant Goten wasn't that much alone anyway.

Raditz laughed at him. "My brother would die of humiliation and he will shame my father. No, best he stay here. Can't do much damage anyway."

A few low inaudible murmurs as Vegeta said loudly, "So the brat will ride in Nappa's ship. Won't do any harm—he won't wake up until we get there anyway. Besides, the ship will be on auto."

A pause. "What of the woman?" A tail swished anxiously.

An aching silence as Bulma prayed silently that _somehow_, in _some way_… "She will be accompanying me." A chill spread through her body, icy limbs grappling onto every fiber of her being.

Footsteps headed in her direction and she jerked her eyes open when Vegeta's arms enclosed around her. He nodded over to Radditz, looking over the woman in his arms, "We go straight to Vegetasei, no stops. I'm not giving the brat another chance to escape."

Radditz shrugged and said lazily, "As you command." Bulma caught a glimpse of the unconscious Trunks tucked under Radditz's arm like a potato sack before the prince abruptly turned.

He crawled into the cramped pod first, dragging her after him. It became immediately clear that the pod had been designed for one person. Even though she was slender from bad times, there was practically no room for her besides the prince's lap. It was utterly humiliating.

At first, Vegeta's attention was intent on the pod as he reached over her, pressing various buttons. Slowly the pod began to rise and she felt her stomach slam into the floor as the ship sailed into the air. The earth and only home she knew began lowering itself out of view outside the small red window. Her muscles tightened instantly. _No! _She could not leave!

Then he untied her, loosening her from the gag only. Her cheeks felt sore from the gag. Her first reaction was to bring both tied fists down at his face, which he had anticipated and caught easily.

Bulma wanted nothing else than to _get that irritating smirk_ _off his lips. _Vegeta quirked an eyebrow at her, he lowered her wrists to bring a blazing black-eyed stare into her blue eyes. "Nowhere to run, _woman_," He whispered, his voice harsh, like knives against stone.

Bulma gritted her teeth. _We'll see about that._ She struggled her way towards the controls but he easily held her back, almost smothering her with his slender bulk.

Vegeta laughed and burrowed his face into the area behind her ear, right where her neck met her shoulers, inhaling the scent of the woman that would soon be his. She stiffened against his touch instantly. "By Kami, I can't decide if you're the same or if you've changed these twelve years. It makes me want to…" He felt Bulma suddenly tense and he paused, enjoying her fear. He leaned downward, brushing his lips against her collarbone, and then his tongue slipped out to run along her delicious skin and the hook necklace. She stiffened, her fingers enclosing around the necklace as though to protect it. It obviously meant a lot to her.

Then he continued, "I won't claim you just yet," he said in a low voice, "I have to do things properly, so all will know you are mine alone." He lingered on her scent, leering. "Though the _temptation_..."

Bulma grimaced as he brought his head up, to level his eyes to hers to see his flat-gaze. _"I belong to no one,"_ she whispered fiercely. Then remembered their encounter earlier and wished she hadn't.

But Vegeta seemed to be in good spirits. He only laughed at her, shaking his head. "Insolence." He took hold of her wrists and pulled her into a fiery lip-lock. She rammed her head against his, thrashing against him until he turned her over, pinning her against the chair. She caught a glimpse of what caused his comrade's death—the dagger—pinned at the prince's belt at his waist again. A sliver of a plan formed in her mind.

The ship now was soaring through the emptiness in space. Bulma felt her stomach rise in the air. She let out a muffled groan. She fought to gain control but gained nothing but sore limbs. The prince suddenly relaxed as he whispered hotly into her ear. "Lucky for you, I'm exhausted. I'm resting but don't think I'll give you a chance to escape." His hands found her bound hands and clasped them as he locked her against him, resting her hands against her belly. His chin rested on her shoulder, breathing in her scent, his lips caressing the side of her face.

"Bastard." Bulma seethed once the prince was asleep. He contaminated her only reminder of Yamcha and now he was groping her in his sleep. The seat was uncomfortable and the prince was hanging around her like a dead rag. The ship hummed as she sat there, the walls vibrating. The lights in the ship dimmed down to a dark translucent green.

Bulma made an effort to wiggle out of the prince's deadly lock but the prince didn't move. When she tried to move his arms instinctively contracted and squeezed her, snarling in his sleep in her ear. Now she was too afraid to move. She was left, alone, with a sleeping alien, hanging all over her, heading into the abyss of space and she couldn't move.

She bit her lip to make the tears go away and tried to concentrate. _Focus, Bulma…_Her eyes flashed to the control panel. No way she was going to reach that, too far for her grip.

She closed her eyes and heard his breathing in her ear. She felt her lips tremble in fear, her entire body shaking from the anticipation. Her hands struggled until she found her hands groping at his waist, searching for the dagger that she couldn't see. A low groan came from the prince's mouth. Sickened, her fingers brushed against the handle of the dagger.

Her hands formed into an iron-tight fist around it. Suddenly the prince tensed, his breathing thickening in her ear, as if he had sensed the danger in his sleep. His muscled arm locked her hand into its position, taking her power away to move her limb.

Bulma bit her lip from crying out in frustration. His arm buckled next to her, making her arms go sore, into a position where the dagger was more to his advantage than hers. _Brilliant, Bulma_, she told herself angrily.

Bulma let out a shuddering breath as she tried to compose herself. Her stomach felt like it was still stuck on the ceiling while the floor was rising to her knees. Struggling, she tried to wrench herself away from the prince's grasp. Instead, she nearly tore her arm out of its socket.

She heard her heartbeat beginning to pound louder and louder in her head. Her fear was starting to consume her, swallowing what remained of her nerves, spreading cold fear through her entire body. Her iron grip on the dagger was going slack, her insides shaking beyond her control, her vision going shakey. The reality of her situation began to dawn on her and she began to panic.

* * *

Vegeta awoke, his eyes snapping open. Accustomed to sleeping sitting up, he checked himself. Everything was in place, the ship hadn't stopped, they hadn't crashed and they were set perfectly on their coordinates. Alarmed to find that his arms were relaxed, he looked down at the woman.

She was dozing, her head tilted back on his shoulder, her ethereal hair flowing around her face. The peaceful expression on her face suggested her dreams were far happier than reality. The dim light of the ship cast soft shadows around her face, expressing her beauty and her youth. The deep shadows around her eyes gave her an exotic look of elegance and pride. Gently smoothing her hair, he studied his new possession.

Running his hands down her back, she was smaller than he had remembered. So fragile compared to saiyan women, yet he felt muscle. The years since he had seen her had been rough. Her hair shimmered in the dim light in outer space. He pulled off her jacket, tracing his fingers in slow circles at her hips, marveling at the perfection of her skin. A line of bruises that he had caused earlier ran along her neck to her shoulders that made him regret it. A murmur escaped from her lips. Curiously, her red lips parted to make out a gentle sound. "_Ve…g-geta…_" Suddenly her head turned, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck, searching for possible warmth.

Surprised, he gazed down at the human. Of all names to mutter in your sleep – why your killer's? Why did her face still have that content expression instead of that fear that should have been there? But he didn't move for some odd reason.

He gently freed her protesting grip from the dagger. _Last I need is you disrupting my sleep with the weapon lined in Nappa's blood_…

Gently, the saiyan prince adjusted the girl. As uncomfortable and tempting that it was, it was the closest he could get to her. No sense in raping her before the claiming began.

The girl seemed oblivious to the danger as she continued breathing deeply from her hiding place from the world. He tucked a curl of her hair back into place. "My woman," he whispered. "My Queen."

Leaning back, Vegeta closed his eyes, concentrating on the woman's deep breathing against his face. Yes…he could get used to this.

* * *

Breathing slowly, Bulma refused to open her eyes. She knew she had been awake for some time now, but she was not compelled to wake up. She sensed her surroundings to be different and her fear ate part of her away. She was also aware of someone being there, right behind her the entire time. She felt like she was in a closed, cramped space, but at the same time she felt very vulnerable.

_Maybe it's a dream. Maybe all these horrible awful events have been a figment of my imagination, a consequence of staying up too late. Maybe I left the window open last night and the cold got in_. She tried to mentally will away all of the horrible awful that could have happened.

Then she was aware of a pressure on her ear. "Woman," his voice said, the haunting voice, in her ear, tickling the inside, "I know you're awake."

She felt choked with fear and focused on her breathing, trying to make it slow and deliberate—the way people do when they were sleeping. Instead, she felt like she was breathing too quickly, panicky over something as simple as _breathing_.

His fingers moved slowly through her hair and finally, she attempted to slam her fist into his face again. He caught her hands with the same air of boredom. "We've done this already, woman." He said in response. "Give up since you have already lost."

She fidgeted, uncomfortable at the thought of being between his legs, glaring at him so hard that she almost rendered herself to tears. He smirked at the way her eyes shone with tears, knowing her helplessness. Slowly, he moved, twisting over her until he was almost on top of her. Her heartbeat increased dramatically.

"Get off—" she breathed. Her voice was high and panicky, nothing near the air of commanding that she was attempting.

Vegeta laughed and bent his head, his lips brushing tenderly over the side of her face.

Bulma grimaced and tried to pull away. He held her in place with his hand, his fingers touching the side of her face. He saw tears bud in her eyes and recalled how she had whispered his name in her sleep, with that content smile on her face while she slept. How different she was now, how much she did not trust him.

A wave of an emotion washed through him. He felt choked, like something was crushing the insides of him. He had never felt it before but it was overwhelming and, whatever it was, he didn't like it.

And in that instant, he felt a subtle shift within him. Suddenly the pleasure of seeing her destroyed, seeing her helpless and angry wasn't worth it. He felt chained against her, caught in a tragedy he didn't want to see out. It was not her fear that he wanted, he realized. It was that boundless strength, that reckless defiance, that beautiful passion that he desired. He wanted her as his equal, not his captive. The fear was visible in her eyes, but somehow it wasn't as satisfying as it had been twelve years ago. It tasted bitter.

"Hell," he swore. "What have you done to me?"

Bulma stared back, trembling. "What do you mean?"

He struggled with his words, struggled to express himself. "You are..._haunting _me," he finally uttered under his breath. He continued, rushing in an enraged voice, "Why?! Before I've met you, women were stupid distractions. You were all the same, all of you, vain, petty, and disgustingly _weak_! I could crush you between two fingers!" He slammed his fist into the wall for good measure, which groaned under the impact, "Yet for the past twelve years I haven't been able to get the single _thought_ of you off my mind! Everything about you—from your ferocity to your scowl, your brilliance and intensity… for the first time, I feel like I've met my match. And in a _mere human_!" He barked a harsh laugh.

"Do you understand the irony? I am the thirteenth in the royal lineage of saiyans, destined for the throne of the universe. Yet it is one human woman—" he dragged his thumb roughly down the side of her face. "—which _haunts _me. I think of nothing _but_ you!" He brought his face dangerously close to hers. She saw the flash of a new combination in his eyes, anger, frustration, confusion, madness. He lowered his voice. "It is something I myself hardly understand. But know this, Bulma: _you are mine_."

* * *

A/N: Man, I am on a roll :D Third chapter up in two days! I hope you guys enjoy it. Not too many changes in this chapter, only a few minor tweaks here and there.

Oh yeah, and thanks to for pointing out that bit with Goku's age. I hadn't thought of that haha I'll adjust it. Thanks!

Thank you so much for your reviews! I am so touched to have your support!

Please let me know anything I can improve on!


	4. Chapter 4

Papercut: The Face Within

Cabalistic

Part One: Nightmares

* * *

Chapter IV

Flashback

* * *

He dumped her unceremoniously onto the ground. She could hardly move—he had bound her across her shoulders and her knees, gagged and blindfolded. She was sore from their journey, having given up the struggle hours before— they had been flying for hours. To where—she could not say. Whether it was night or day, she could not tell.

He wrenched the blindfold from her eyes. She glared at him, and he pointedly ignored her. Her eyes flickered over his hard features – she was slowly learning how to read his moods, to discern between anger and amusement, sarcasm and mockery. Some days, he would humor her attempts at escape, other days, his mood was so foul that she quickly learned to go along quietly. His eyebrows furrowed down into an angry line, his thin lips bared in a tight frown – today, it seemed as though the latter were true.

He aimed a finger at her binds and fired a bolt of chi. She winced as the heat disintegrated her restraints. Roughly, he hoisted her by her arm to her feet. "Get what you need," was his order. "Now."

Twisting free from her captor's touch, Bulma rubbed some feeling back into her arm as she studied her surroundings. They were in a small abandoned apartment. Much of it was left in disarray and ruin, various debris and trash littering the ground. She tested the kitchen faucet and was amazed to see water run from the tap. Indoor plumbing seemed like a mythical luxury.

She streamlined towards the bathroom and immediately starting running the shower. She ditched her soiled clothes onto the floor and jumped in. Hot water enveloped her, the steam rising in a thick cloud. She generously used up the shampoo and soap left forgotten on the shower shelves – not like anyone would need them anytime soon – and vigorously scrubbed the layers of grime and dirt down the drain.

Once, this had simply been a part of her daily routine. Now, it was a rarity, an oasis between deserts.

Months had passed since she had fallen to the saiyan's captivity. The nightmare had lasted for sometime now. He hardly let her out of his sight. And when he did, he left her bound up or stranded so that she would still be there until he returned from his sieges.

At this point, she had forced herself to keep moving. She refused to sink into self-pity or depression. No tears. No shock. She had to get out of this. If she let her sorrow consume her, then she would be defeated. She couldn't rely on the other Z fighters to save her; she was on her own. She forced herself to move, to focus purely on the present, to learn his captor's habits, and to always keep a watchful eye for her chance.

Running her hands through her long hair, she tipped her head back and let the water pound against her face, relishing in the cleanliness, wishing it were all a dream.

She heard a collosal crash as she stepped out of the shower. The ground shook, as though a great weight had impacted the ground. She knew he was blowing out the elevators, the stairs, the floors beneath them. Most likely, they were on the penthouse of a skyscraper. He was cutting off all of her exits, trapping her in a makeshift cage in the sky.

Wrapping up in a towel, she examined the contents of the closet. Before, she had to improvise with whatever dwelling the saiyan dumped her off at – one time, she had the horrid experience of trying to throw together a wardrobe from a bachelor's closet. Luckily, this seemed to have been a young couple's residence. She selected a pair of durable jeans, a hoodie, and a T-shirt. The underwear was slightly big, but she could make do. At least they were clean.

When she came out, she saw him standing outside on the balcony, arms crossed over his chest, staring out over the ruined city. Brooding. She shivered at the sight of him and made her way to the kitchen. She threw together a hasty lunch from whatever remained – a lopsided sandwich with questionable meat, yellowing leattuce, tomatoes, a box of leftover rice and chicken, a bag of chips, old apples. She downed the orange juice in a gulp, and then returned to raid the kitchen again. For weeks on end, she might end up scrabbling for whatever she could find in dumpsters, or make do with the scraps he tossed at her, when he bothered to remember. Otherwise, this pathetic leftover pile was her feast.

She was tearing through a stale box of animal crackers when he came inside. She froze, deer in headlights, at his approach. But he ignored her, disinterested, and went to the fridge to tear into its contents. She crept the farthest side of the room to sit on the couch. Finding nothing that interested him, he shut the door and strolled over to the couch. She watched his movements carefully.

He slouched against the couch beside her, legs spread out, head tipped back, eyes closed. "Give me some."

"Get your own," she snapped.

One dark eye flickered open. Glared.

She quickly handed him a cracker. Instead of taking it with his hand, he opened his mouth.

Annoyed with his games, she left the cracker balancing on his knee.

It distintigrated in seconds from his chi bolt. Both eyes open. His lips curled into a tight snarl. "Insolent girl. Don't make me repeat myself."

He opened his mouth, both eyes fixed on her this time, and she meekly fed it to him.

He seized her hand, so fast that she jolted. But he only pressed a sinisterly gentle kiss to her palm, brushing his hand absently through her hair, as he stood up. "Good girl." He left the room.

Bulma immediately wiped her hand off. She heard the shower going. A shiver passed through her as she set the box of crackers down – this moment was too human for her taste. He was a monster, a demon. She pressed her face into her hands, then stood and went out onto the patio to lean against the railing and gaze at what remained.

They were in a penthouse of some kind, atop a huge skyscraper. Huge, ghostly, abandoned buildings towered around them on every side, seeming eerie as they stared forlornly out of broken windows and gaping sides. She wondered what city they were in. Destruction littered the ground far below – a smattering of what remained of cars, buses, subways all mashed together. Fires flickered along the streets, others flooded with sewage. Distantly, there was the sound of sirens, an empty, echoing cry for help that would never come. It was quiet, otherwise, an otherworldly quiet after the storm of the seige. No sign of the human life that once populated this place anywhere, each probably silenced forever. By now, she was familiar with these sights and sounds. The city reeked of death.

"Magnificient, isn't it?"

She stiffened as his arms descended on either side to clasp the railing in front of her, his breath thick against her cheek. She hadn't heard his approach. He rested his chin against her shoulder, his hands encircling her waist, as he murmured, "All that once was order, now chaos. All that once was whole, now broken. All that once was life, now death."

She could only shake her head, squeezing her eyes shut. It was too terrible for words.

He laughed softly. His arms tightened around her and she squirmed, repulsed by his presence. Desperately, her eyes sought the sky– but no, there was no hope. Then her eyes turned downward.

"Why are you out here?" he murmured. "If it's so awful, then why force yourself to see it? Why not," he curled a stray hair behind her ear, "stay inside, and pretend it's all a dream?"

She didn't answer him. She needed to see. She needed to know.

He inhaled her scent deeply, and kissed the swoop of her collarbone. Grasping her chin, he forced her gaze to meet his. "Go inside and take off your clothes."

When he was done, she ripped the patio door open and stumbled back outside, every part of her aching and raw. She leaned against the railing and tried not to vomit – she could still feel his heavy hands all over her, his greedy hard mouth demanding, violating. She would fight, but it was hopeless; she would give in at the end, lying still as a corpse beneath him and trying to shut off her mind and escape somewhere else, anywhere else. He always won in the end. She struggled now, but only half-heartedly. He was winning. He was too strong for her. There was no escape. She was beginning to forget why she fought at all, why, when it was so futile. She had to get away, she needed to get away, hurry, quickly. She rested her forehead against the cool railing and tried to focus on her breathing.

A bird landed on the railing. Blearily, she turned her cheek to watch as the small creature tiled its head, hopping, tittering, dancing. Then it took off in flight and sailed to the ground below. Free.

Free.

"Well," she said aloud, "why the hell not?"

It only took a moment for her to climb up onto the railing, to hook her feet and clamor up against the stone ledge. The city seemed so close to her hand, all of the towers crowding around her, so close, like old friends welcoming her home. She could see birds below flying in a flock together.

"—Woman, get down."

She turned her head to see him standing there, half-clad in his armor, looking furious. She smiled vaguely at him from where she stood, balancing just so on the railing with both arms outspread. A rush of wind whipped her blue hair around her face.

"No," she answered, calmly. Then she leaned forward—and plunged into gravity's embrace.

She heard him curse loudly, before he vanished from her sight. Falling at this height was a strange sensation – a mixture of exhilarating freedom and fear. All she could see was a flurry of colors as the skyscrapers' heights raced past her, urging her on. The streets below loomed closer, with their cars and streetlamps and sidewalks. She stretched out her hands on either side to hold the city between her arms, and pretended that she was flying, like Goku used to teach her. She felt so alive.

For a fleeting moment, she pictured her body, splattered in mess of bone and blood in the street below. _It's too soon. _He would still win, even if she died. No, she didn't want to die. It would be too simple, too ugly, too devastating.

She heard a rush of wind at her back, and knew the moment was over. She glanced over her shoulder to see a streak of blue light following her, the Prince looming into her vision, looking murderous.

He swooped around her and caught her by her waist, so hard that he knocked the wind of her chest. He swerved around and changed their course by 180 degrees, rocketing up into the sky as the buildings grew tall again.

He landed onto the patio before slamming her into the wall by her throat.

"What were you _thinking_?" he roared. She stared back at him, heart thudding. She could still feel the wind rushing against her face, the rush of freedom in her chest. "You're so set on escaping that you'd risk _dying_?! Have you lost your damn mind!?"

"…No," she whispered. "I just wanted…" Her throat closed up.

Freedom.

"Let me make one thing clear, _girl_," he growled, eyes narrowed. He shook her by the throat. "_You can— never—_ _leave!" _

She spat in his eyes.

He struck her across the face.

She stumbled onto the ground, blood dribbling down her mouth where her teeth cut into her cheek. She could already feel her cheek swelling from the impact of his strike. Trembling, she raised a hand to the wound. A rush of recklessness ran through her and she glared at him, eyes full of hatred. "Don't hold back," she yelled. "I've seen you knock heads off of men and crush babies like tin cans. What, you can't kill one human girl? Are you going _soft_?"

He grabbed her arm and twisted it—hard. A burst of pain shot up her arm and she whimpered at the sound of bone snapping.

"You will _regret this," _he snarled.

He released her and she fell, scampering to the corner away from him, cradling her arm. Seething, he grabbed a lawn chair and chucked it into the next building. The chair torpedoed into it and the building beyond it; they creaked and rumbled to the ground, collapsing from the impact. Wide-eyed, she watched as it fell. He ran a hand through his hair, his expression thunderous, as he started back towards her.

She screamed at his approach, pressing into the corner, shrieking, _leave me alone,_ pleading, _I'm sorry please, _begging, _oh Kami please don't,_ as he grabbed her by the hair, and hauled her back inside.

* * *

A/N: This was a fairly violent chapter... Haha I was listening to Eminem's _Love the way you lie_ for inspiration. I read a couple of reviews a while back where people were wondering more about Bulma & Vegeta's past together. So I decided to include more flashbacks in this rewrite. Eventually I hope to reveal how Bulma ends up escaping Vegeta before he leaves for home.

Hope you guys enjoyed it! Let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

Papercut: The Face Within

cabalistic

Part One: Nightmares

* * *

Chapter V

Present.

* * *

The pod beeped, announcing their arrival. Its two passengers had remained silent for the remainder of the trip—the saiyan, lost in deep thought, and the human, trying to focus at her present troubles rather than his troubling words hours before.

She stared out at the enormous planet in front of them—a planet with reddish hues and sand clouds that covered the planet's atmosphere. She shivered at the sight of it. This was planet of the monsters that had conquered and massacred planets across the galaxy; the very home of murderers. It seemed fitting that it reminded her of blood.

"Welcome home," Vegeta murmured. She glared at him, thinking he intended to mock her, but she saw that he was staring out at his planet with a forlorn gaze. It seemed more like he was talking to himself.

Bulma said nothing, too tired and confused to process anything. He seemed to be in a daze himself.

They landed quickly. The three space pods touched down on landing base simultaneously. The base seemed enormous – there were easily thousands of other landing platforms. The pod door opened; he slid out of the pod and Bulma followed. A crowd of saiyans stood outside the landing base, waiting.

She jolted. The only saiyans she had ever seen were the four: Goku, Vegeta, Nappa and Radditz. Before her stood a crowd of thousands of saiyans. All of their ebony hair gleamed in the sun, with noticeable widow's peaks. At the sight of their prince, many bowed their head and raised their fists in salute. They seemed to be made of stone; all were muscular, strong and tanned. A warrior's race.

Vegeta was unfazed by the group gathered before them. He raised his arm and roared a blood-curdling shout. Bulma nearly jumped out of her skin. Then they all replied, howling at each other in some sort of savage chorus. It was eerie and animalistic.

"My brethren," Vegeta called. He did not seem to be yelling, but his voice carried over a great distance. The clamor died down almost to an immediate hush. "The borders of the universe have been secured and the rebels defeated." The howls and roars nearly started up again if Vegeta hadn't continued. "The victory belongs to Vegetasei!" Then the crowd's cries grew to a deafening roar and Vegeta turned away.

Fear rose in Bulma's throat. He gripped her wrist in his hand and dragged her off in the other direction.

She looked back at the pods and her heart stopped when she saw Trunks trown over Radditz's shoulder. He was still unconscious, the bruise now reduced to the size of her fist. Dried blood crusted his forehead and his lips moved soundlessly. Her motherly instincts tore at her viciously, an angered monster enraged on the inside.

"What was that?" Bulma demanded to Vegeta, as they moved off the platforms. Vegeta chuckled, mostly to himself. Bulma glanced back at Trunks, paranoid, and demanded, "What border? What rebellion?" Vegeta laughed this time. "You're a foreigner. I almost forgot, since your instincts are practically saiyan."

When she fumed in response, Vegeta added carelessly in afterthought, "It's a compliment." Bulma scowled in repulsion. Like hell it was. "That was our greeting call. It's to tell the saiyans who are waiting on Vegetasei that the mission was successful. And then, they, of course, return the call. Tonight, we have a ceremony in the warrior's honor—despite the fact that Nappa died." Bulma heard the sudden venom in his voice and she grimly recalled that it was she who was responsible for his death.

"Our mission was twofold. Publicly, we had been sent to crush an uprising in the South Quadrant of the universe. A couple of the planets got arrogant under the saiyan rule and revolted. Normally, we don't send first class soldiers to outskirts, but we decided to make an example of them. Our second, and secret, mission—" he paused to glance at her. "—was to retrieve the lost heir of the throne."

_Trunks._

"Stay close to me now. To them, you are supposed to be a captive and, if provoked, they might harass you."

"What do you mean 'supposed to be'?" Bulma said harshly. "Isn't that what I am?"

Vegeta met her eyes briefly. He smiled but said nothing.

They moved off of the platform and into the crowd. The saiyans seemed anxious and wary of her, staring at her, whispering to each other with leers on their exotic faces. She felt small, compared to hulking sizes and vulnerable to their piercing gazes. Bulma's eyes scanned through the crowd and landed on a face that made her face freeze.

It couldn't be. Was she hallucinating?

The face froze too. It was him!

_Yamcha. _

He blended easily with the crowd, clear shock written all over his face. Another scar crossed over his cross-shaped scar and his hair was cut, choppy against his ears. His face was still angular and his eyes were written over with surprise. He was in the attire of a saiyan and he was tanner, thinner too…but it was Yamcha. She was sure of it. It _had _ to be him.

She stopped dead in her tracks. Hesitantly, she raised her eyes to his and slowly, deliberately, raised her hand to her necklace. Immediately, he swarmed forward, pushing his way through the sea of the crowd and breaking out into a run when he got out into the open pathway. Pure joy was written across his face.

Her heart leaped into her throat as she pulled away from Vegeta and ran into him, heedless of the consequences. She greeted the smell of him, the feel of his embrace. How many years had it been since he had held her like this? Twelve years…twelve years too long. His warm smell surrounded her, his scent overpowering all other foreign ones. "Yamcha!" She cried, "Am I dreaming?"

He put his forehead against hers and whispered her name over and over, "Bulma, Bulma, Bulma, Bulma, Bulma, Bulma…" Each time he said her name, waves of emotion burst through her. She clung to him, trembling. _He was alive_.

Then their reunion was abruptly cut short. The crowd was screaming, enraged. The guards nearby were already advancing towards them. Vegeta was grabbing her shoulders and tearing her away from Yamcha. His eyes were murderous. Yamcha stared back at the prince.

"Who are you," Vegeta hissed venomously, "and what the hell do you think you are doing?" Bulma tried to step forward but Vegeta angrily pushed Bulma behind him. The glare Vegeta gave Yamcha was a mix of pure hatred and…jealousy?

Yamcha bent down on his knee. "Forgive me, my liege. I was out of place." His gaze avoided Bulma's.

Bulma stared at Yamcha, delirious with shock. This wasn't the Yamcha she knew. The Yamcha she knew would never have bowed down to the monster who had destroyed their planet. The Yamcha she knew would have been spitting out insults, comebacks, blow-by-blow until his opponent was rendered to nothing, neither mouth nor fist as a weapon.

Vegeta slammed a kick full force into Yamcha's side. Bulma gasped and Yamcha doubled over, coughing, blood pouring from his mouth. "Learn your place, 3rd rated saiyan!" Vegeta spat. Bulma stared at Yamcha, confused. _Saiyan? _Yamcha said nothing, wiping the blood from his mouth on his sleeve, carefully examining the blood as though it were fascinating. Yamcha didn't make eye contact with anyone or lift a hand to defend himself.

Vegeta, fully angered now, stalked off, pulling Bulma behind him. She turned around to stare wide-eyed at Yamcha, who stared back at her. _"I'll find you later," _was what he mouthed to her. His impish wink didn't change however and it made her heart hopelessly flutter inside her. _He was alive_.

The palace of Vegetasei loomed above them. It dwarfed any other structure Bulma had ever seen before. Its jagged towers pierced the sky and blank windows stared out at her, with no welcoming feeling. She walked unsteadily next to Vegeta as they entered the darkened building. The walls rose high around them. Inside, the building was just as cold as its exterior.

When they entered an empty room, Vegeta whirled on Bulma, exploding. "What were you thinking?! Who was he!? Why the hell did you let him touch you like that?!" Inside of him swelled a consuming, monstrous feeling, something he had never felt before. The way he had trembled in anger when he saw how Bulma ran to a stranger's embrace while when every attempt on his part to touch her the same way, she fought and screamed? It was Vegeta who understood her more than she even knew herself, and yet she had rejoiced in a stranger's arms! _She belongs to no one but me. She's mine_.

Bulma faltered. "I—he…it was like…I knew him from before."

Vegeta's eyes grazed through her.

"You are never to speak to him again!" He swore.

Bulma snapped, "Why do you care?!"

Vegeta turned at her, his eyes blazing. "_'Why do I care?'" _He echoed. "I should have every right to care! You are _my_ woman and he just comes up to you like that…the bastard doesn't even know who the hell you are!" Vegeta had no idea how wrong he was.

"I am _not_ your woman, you selfish bastard!" It seemed childish, bickering like this. She certainly _felt_ childish. But if she told him who Yamcha really was then she was certain that Vegeta would kill him. _I have to protect him from the prince, even though he can't protect himself_.

Vegeta laughed suddenly. He looked down at her, darkly smirking at her. The bitterness was rising in him, and he couldn't stop. "Oh Bulma, I didn't know you were such a _whore_. What's next, are you going to welcome him into your bed?" He mocked, "Perhaps that 's why it was so easy raping you…"

Bulma attempted to punch him but he caught it. "How dare you!" Bulma screamed, livid. "You don't know _anything!_"

He didn't know. He didn't know the awkward smiles, the first dates, the promise of tomorrow, the hope so vibrant she couldn't breathe. He didn't know how much she cried when Goku had come back, the fragment of the human he once was. How much blood trailed on the ground. He carried the butchered body of his son, torn of all limbs. She remembered his eyes, his empty eyes as he walked slowly towards Bulma. "_I'm so sorry, Bulma…I wasn't strong enough...I couldn't protect them._" How many days had she done nothing but wail and cry?

A wave of anguished thoughts flooded her mind. Why was she so helpless? Why couldn't she defend herself? How come Yamcha couldn't defend himself—the one hero who had rescued her from so many nights of nightmares and torture? Was reality so much different that she had twisted Yamcha to be a knight in shining armor in her dreams instead of the real person that he was?

_If I could fight, I wouldn't even be here_. She would have gone with the other fighters to meet the saiyans in combat. She wouldn't have been left behind, waiting, as every day, every hour dragged on, with her heart wrenched up with so much anxiety and worry that every day felt like dying. She would have preferred fighting than the waiting. She probably would have died, but at least she could _fight_.

He was right, of course, of what he said earlier. She really _had_ no place to go. And if she did run, how would Yamcha find her? He was her only hope for escaping this world now. Perhaps even Yamcha couldn't help her now, maybe she was on her own.

Her eyes flashed to the landing area just outside. An idea formed in her mind as she glanced at Vegeta, who was absorbed in his thoughts. Immediately she pulled away from his weakened grip and made a dash towards the space pods.

_Trunks! Yamcha! _The names caught in her throat and she lurched to a stop—but there was no need to. Vegeta caught her nearly immediately. She choked in mid-breath as Vegeta said hotly in her ear, "I told you not to get any ideas. This is your home now."

She struggled. _Even hell would be far better than this! _ "Stop," he snarled. "Cooperate with me—just this once!"

"Release me, and I will!" She retorted.

Now he had an amused look on his face as he put her down and said with a cocky smirk on his face, "You're entitled to your promise… little Queen," he said tauntingly.

She glared at him, the meaning behind his words escaping her. They were silent for a while, before Bulma blurted, "Where will we stay?"

Vegeta glanced back at her. "Here. There are chambers prepared for you." He glanced back up at the palace. It was one of the newer palaces, so thankfully, he had no memories here. Flickering images brushed against his mind, but he hastily pushed them away.

Bulma's heart sank. "I still don't understand. Why am I here?"

Vegeta stopped so suddenly Bulma almost crashed into him. He turned around with a sick smile on his face. "Why…you're my queen, of course."

Bulma's eyes narrowed. "Queen!?" She spat. She thought he had been joking before.

"Yes and you should be honored," Vegeta snapped at her.

"Well I'm not!" She replied shrewdly. "Pick someone else, I don't want to." Images appeared in her mind, literally chained to the throne with Vegeta sitting next to her, his cold hand on top of hers, his leering smile directed at her. King and Queen…Her mind unwillingly flashed back to Yamcha. _"…One day we'll get married…!" _

Vegeta gripped her wrist hard, hard enough to make Bulma wince and awaken from her dream, as he said darkly, dangerously, "That is not your choice to make, Bulma."

"Why do I have to be your queen!?" Bulma's face twisted into a scowl, and once again Vegeta found himself staring into his reflection again.

Pleased by her reaction, his smile widened. "You're—"

"_Vegeta_!"

He winced at the voice. _Not now_.

A formidable saiyan woman burst into the room, wearing fighter's armor. She had a rather arrogant look on her face, with the longest hair that Bulma had ever seen. "I heard you returned much sooner than they had anticipated. I was told you wouldn't be back until a fortnight!" Her dark eyes swept over at Bulma.

Then Bulma keenly felt some sort of intuitive warning, a prickling on the back of her neck, as she bent backward easily in time to dodge the woman's unwarned slap. Blinking, she wondered what kind of reflex that was. Bulma smiled at the other woman. Jealousy?

Vegeta was surprised—and pleased— at how fast Bulma had moved to dodge Kiryae's sudden strike. _Just like I thought—more saiyan than human. _She would be a considerable warrior with her ability…Shaking his head free from his thoughts, he snapped at the saiyan, "Kiryae! I won't tolerate your behavior towards her!"

"Whore!" Kiryae seethed. Her eyes narrowed into slits. "You little slut! How dare you come to Vegetasei!"

Bulma looked coldly into the woman's eyes. She felt her lips curl into a scowl. "That was not my choice to make." Amused, Vegeta bit back laughter—that gaze was his own.

"Where's the brat!?" Kiryae said, whirling back at Vegeta. "I told you to kill them both!"

"He's the heir to the throne," Vegeta said, glaring down at her. "I cannot kill him—he's my own flesh and blood."

She looked cowed by Vegeta's gaze. She stumbled over her next words. "What about our mating!? I'm to be crowned queen!"

Bulma almost laughed at the irony. _So much for your brilliant plan_, she almost sneered but was cut off by Vegeta's indignant shout. "Mating? Have you lost it, woman?! There is no mating—there never was! You are not my queen, much less my mate!"

Kiryae looked thunderstruck. "Are you mad, Vegeta? We were betrothed since we were _children_!"

Bulma coolly started walking away, hoping that they wouldn't notice but Vegeta reached out and grabbed her by the wrist. _Ahh damn._ Apparently he hadn't let his guard down. He continued sharply, "That was my father—not me. Have you ever heard the words come out of my mouth?"

Kiryae seemed like she was at a loss for words.

"I want you off of the palace grounds. I never want to see you again, unless it's at a public occasion." His expression hardened as he enunciated the words, "_Get out._" Kiryae's eyes widened and she went slightly white. Vegeta turned away from her. He pulled Bulma along out of the room. Bulma gazed back at the devastated woman before continuing on.

She glanced at Vegeta again, to see him lost in thought—again.

Vegeta scowled as he walked, a million thoughts buzzing around his head in a swarm. Why did he always attract such distasteful women? Long ago, they were petty amusements, silly little playthings to pass the time, but now he had a greater prize in mind. And yet, she wanted nothing to do with him! He glared at her. He despised being so repulsive in Bulma's eyes. He wanted to be different, wanted her to gravitate towards him, wanted her world to shift on its axis like his did for her, like that one pathetic 3rd rated saiyan did. As he recalled the saiyan, he grew more frustrated with himself. In Kami's name, what _had_ she seen in him? What was so worthy about 3rd rated saiyans?! They were barely fit for mating, much less the way that they had greeted each other.

Frustrated, he turned his thoughts back to Bulma. What chance did he have with her if she turned down a prince yet embraced 3rd rated saiyans? It didn't make _sense_.

"You're angry," she said aloud.

"Damn right I am," Vegeta snapped back.

Bulma didn't answer. She studied her surroundings with acute interest and she was alert, ready to flee if anything came out at her, ready to attack at any posing threat. He could tell: by the way she held her shoulders back and her hands tensed at her sides. Vegeta almost smiled.

"What's going to happen to my son?" Bulma asked. Vegeta realized with a start that she was echoing the tone of his voice. Amused, he smirked. _Insolent woman, you mean to mock me. _

He decided to be honest with her. "His memory will be wiped of earth. My son will be raised accordingly to the saiyan stature—to be the next prince of Vegetasei."

Bulma felt her body go numb. So that was it. So clean and calculated. He would forget everything—his mother, Goku, his best friend Goten, the time he caught his first fish and the way he smiled—his hands that once embraced her would turn into bloody hands that killed... Her Trunks, the innocent Trunks, would be taught how to kill…

It was her living nightmare. _Trunks would turn into Vegeta's image…_ The Trunks she knew would die, cease to exist. "You can't." Bulma said with sudden nerve.

"Oh? Why can't I?" Vegeta's eyebrows raised, his old smirk was back, challenging her. Again, that wave of helplessness washed over her. Frustrated, she gritted her teeth—why was she so powerless!? She snarled, "If you take my son from me, I'll_—_!"

"You'll what?" Vegeta, obviously enjoying the moment, leaned in. Triumphant at the sight of her weakness, he sneered, "Wake up, woman. The son you pampered back on earth is dead. That was your son, now he's mine."

Bulma's hand sailed to his cheek—which he caught easily but he didn't anticipate the punch slammed into his chest. It didn't hurt, but it still caught him off guard. He stared at her—suddenly in admiration. _How many times is this woman going to hit me? _ It was too good to be true. _No doubt, this woman was born to be of saiyan stature._

Bulma seethed, "_I will kill you if you even touch him!" _

Vegeta's smirk vanished. In a flash, he had his fingers clenched around her throat so tight he could feel her windpipe, her pulse throbbing erratically against his fingers. She gagged while he hissed in her ear, "Don't you threaten me. Do you hear me? I find your mad courage amusing, but don't be _stupid_. _Don't forget who you are, and who I am._ Understand?"

She nodded, hastily, and he released her. "Good girl." He walked to the doorway and looked expectantly at her. She followed him, quickly.

They walked together now, Bulma no longer hesitating. _She finally understands how important it is for her to stay in line here._ Vegeta noted. Good.

Bulma trailed behind him, fearful. This was the father of her son, this monster who abused her and taunted her. She thought of her own father, long ago, as he held her up to see the fireworks of the Lantern Festival more clearly. She remembered, even though she was 16—far too old to be carried in her father's comical height, she was small enough to let him carry her and she cried with laughter of a child. Of course, it wasn't the fireworks that night, but the explosions of the West city that they witnessed; instead of beauty that was expected she only saw horror.

Her father, when he could, was kind to her. He was always busy though, but always wanted her to come with him to work, always amused by his heiress' amassed knowledge. He would pat her on the head and say fondly, "_Surely you are my daughter_."

She hardly saw her mother, who had left her father years ago. When Bulma did see her mother, as infrequent as it was, she was always distant, bringing a boyfriend or one of her many temporary husbands.

Bulma shook her head. The only other person she knew intimately was Goku, a childhood friend and Yamcha, her boyfriend, along with the rest of the gang. But her father was her best friend.

_My life wasn't perfect_, she finally allowed herself to admit. _As fragmented as it was, I was happy. Until the saiyans came._ She glowered at Vegeta's back. His tug at her wrist never faltered yet he spared her no glance as he hotly stalked down each hallway.

"Where…where are we going?" She finally asked quietly.

He didn't stop as he said, "To our quarters."

It took her only a second to absorb that as she stopped in her tracks, making Vegeta stop too. "_Our!?_" She shrieked, stricken.

Wryly, Vegeta smirked and turned back to look at her with a wolfish grin on his face. "Yes. Our quarters. You and I are to share. As King and Queen. As mates…" he paused, and added smoothly, "and as lovers."

"I _refuse!_" She seethed, wrenching her hand away from his in a fluid movement. "You honestly can't expect me to go along with this _willingly_!"

Vegeta leered as he added, eyes glittering, "Wait until you see our bed."

"_What!_?!"

He suddenly leaned back, indifferent. "Relax. I'm not going to rape you. What sort of gentleman would I be if I did that?" His dark eyes flashed at hers, and his smirk grew.

Her eyes narrowed, and she bared her lips in a snarl, twisting her face into that expression that so resembled his. He gazed at his reflection for a moment, once again finding himself marveling at their similarities. _Yes, I am sure of it now. _ He raised a hand to her cheek. She turned away, disgusted, but he only moved closer. His expression was solemn. "Have you ever wondered why it was you?"

Her icy voice had an inkling of curiosity in it. "What do you mean?"

"Why, of all the humans captive, I chose to take you with me?"

"No," she answered truthfully. "I never let myself think. I assumed it was because of my father because he worked for you, or because Goku was the only one who stood up and fought you. Maybe because I was the heiress of the rich family and I was being held for ransom or being made an example of?"

He played with her hair, twisting it between his fingers. "Do you want to know?"

She hesitated. "Does it change anything?"

He pulled her hair back to kiss her neck. "It might." He looked into her eyes. _Maybe one day, I'll tell her. _

He pulled aside and pressed a button, the door sliding open. He pushed Bulma in and shut the door behind him.

She stopped, puzzled. The room was completely empty, except for a table in the center of the room.

Then it dawned on her, but too late.

He saw his chance and took it. He moved behind her and moved his hands up to the nerve on her neck. She stiffened —but too late as he struck her, hard, against her weak point. She fell limply against him, her body crumpling as he caught her, effortlessly.

The prince of Vegetasei stared down at the lovely woman in his arms and wondered what kind of spell she was intoxicating him with.

* * *

A/N: So here's a long chapter to follow the last short chapter :) Lots of dialogue, not much plot. I didn't change too much with this chapter - just a couple of tweaks here and there and polishing the plot a little bit.

Wow I can't believe I pasted that twice - that's so embarrassing! Sorry guys! :) I must have been really out of it last night!

Let me know what you think!


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